Reign of the Fallen
by Millie55
Summary: House Gwhendel's loyalty is tested following the events of the Red Wedding. Will House Gwhendel of the North persevere in their hour of weakness, or will they succumb to their losses and kneel to those who ask for fealty? [ A Game of Thrones Fanfiction - House Stryder/Gwhendel are characters and a plot line of my own creation. ]
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hopefully this will be my one and only authors note. I have spent a lot of time planning this out - over a month now, and I have finally finished the first chapter. I told myself I wouldn't post it until I have more of the story completed but I was eager to see what people would thing of the characters and plot I have created for myself. I hope by posting this early, I will receive feedback that could help me improve this first chapter and the adventure to come. I will be doing my best to write in a similar fashion to the the books. Each chapter being in a character's perspective. The story is interconnected with that of the series as well as the Telltale game series. There is one section in the contents that is referred to as the appendix. This will be updated as the story progresses.**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **Reign of the Fallen**

A _Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

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 ** _Adilayde_**

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Rest was not found in the chambers of the Lord. A message of massacre had been relayed. Sent by a raven to Fort Stryder, now resting in the hands of it's Lady. To hold it still was a struggle, Lady Adilayde would have blamed this on the cold northern wind if anyone noticed. The truth however, was that she was terrified to the point of trembling. The letter had be sent from far south, the Tully sigil stamped into the hard wax. It was not everyday Fort Stryder received a letter from Riverrun, but she was sure that she was not the only one to receive such notice.

As a house principal to Winterfell, Lord Marcus and their two eldest sons, Cassius and Zachariah, rode in the army of Robb Stark. The same army that was was cut down at The Twins in a bath of ale and blood. She could feel a choke of a sob taking over her throat, threatening to escape into the chamber. Had she lost them all? Tears began to build up in her crystal eyes at the thought of being without them.

Lord Marcus Gwhendel, the adamant-or the s _tubborn fool_ , as Adilayde would call him. He was the love of her life, but not always. When her northern eyes as clear and bright as winter's ice had first met the sight of Lord Gwhendel. At nineteen, she was the sole heir to her house. House Stryder, ruler of the fort of the same name. Her family. It was many years ago that Lady Adilayde was forced to watch them die one by one. It was the beginning of a cruel winter, snow already beginning to fall before the final fleet of ship could arrive on the coat. Cracking through the thin layers of ice, the crew stumbled ashore with the cargo and an illness as lethal as a swords blade. Unlike a wound, there was no healing from this sick. There was only death.

It took her brother first. Demetrius Stryder, first born son and only son to House Stryder. The first of two total children. Heir to the House, with their blue eyes as clear at the Norther'n skies and hair as black as coal. There was great panic when illness took him. How was Adilayde expected to take the throne? She was but a Lady, someone that they could marry off to another Lord to grow their allies not a woman fit to rule her own House. Her father hoped that the young brunette would not have to follow in his leadership as Demetrius had wed. His bride, her hair like dancing flame and body once pale and lean was now round with the carrying of his child. The rightful heir to Fort Stryker following his father. It's fate however did not rest in the icy chambers of the castle. Caught in the loss of her Lord, Lady Andromeda threw herself from the heights of her shower, tainting the snow with the crimson of blood. Taking her own life, and the one of her unborn child.

Then, the sick took her parents. Quickly, her mother, Lyla succumbed to the fever an death took her in a matter of days. Left was just Adilayde and her father, Lord Caspian Stryder the just. A determined man, he did not let it take him easily. He fought until his last dying breath. It had been spent in the great hall, speaking with a man who was interested in his daughter's hand. The man she would later wed and make the Lord of Fort Stryder. He still had his youth then: golden locks of hair that were windswept from the long ride north, golden skin that only the western sun could give him, and eyes amber like molten bronze. It did not go unnoticed by her that he was a handsome man, but she knew of his motivations. He wanted her power. That made her hesitant with her decision. Any man she chose to marry would take on lordship, and if it did not happen quickly there was not a doubt in her mind that the fortress her ancestors had build would crumble and fall to those who would hear of her father's death. Their House would not be the first to fall to extinction because the Lord fell and the houses around them grew greedy. To join Lord Marcus of Gweniver in marriage was the only way to preserve the heritage of her family, and with their joining House Styder gained allies in the rest of House Gwhendel.

What once was a strategic move, had turned into love over their many years together. Now, as she stood by the tower window in which Andromeda once fell from she watched the front gates. Adilayde couldn't feel more fearful. Was her love gone? Left to let their third born son Jonas to take on his lordship? The thought made her heartache. How could she lose so much in such little time? The gust of northern wind tore through the room, a gentle dusting of snow taking the floor before melting under the heat of the roaring fire made up to warm her for the seemingly never-ending night. She felt trapped in this darkness. Depression heavy on her chest, choking her sobs back until she was paralyzed with sorrow. She would have to tell the children come morning. They would not take it well, especially the youngest Sofya and Stryder. They would be fourteen come their name day, but they had been close with their father. They all had been, even their first born daughter, Delilah who had made King's Landing her home to serve their Queen.

Retiring to bed was a thought that crossed her mind. To drop into the heavy blankets of fur, let then envelope her in their warmth as she missed having her Lord beside her. But then, out of the corner of a crystal eye she spotted movement. Movement just beyond the wall. Moving closer to the edge, she squinted, focusing her eyes on the figure. No, two figures. Horses! The thought of sleep left her now, and hope was ignited. Could this be her husband? Her children?

Quick feet carried the woman through the corridor, letter abandoned on the floor of her chambers. Those who served the Lady, moved to the side to let her past before moving to to join her. They were worried, they had never seen such alarm on her northern features. Adilayde ignored the many calls of "my lady" as she moved. Soon she was out the castle front, and out into the streets, what once was muddy in the summer heat, was stiff from the cold and compacted flat with the feet of travelers. With each heavy exasperated breath from her lips, a cloud took the wind. The cold air burned her lungs, but she did not dare stop.

"The gate! Open the gate!" Lady Adilayde pleaded as she grew closer to the iron bars in which divided her from the forests and fields beyond. The screech of the rising entry was loud in the night, waking commoners and kinship alike. It wasn't long until clusters of people gathers to watch two black horses emerge from the darkness, a man on each of their backs. Relief took her body, muscles relaxing until she realized who was missing. She then became desperate, her body thrown at her Lord as she dismounted his steed.

"Zachariah, where is he? Where is he?"

Desperate fists grasped at the garb of her love, his tall frame close to her small. The blood soaked cloth stained her hands, horrified she pulled trembling hands back.

"It's not my blood," the gruff voice of Lord Marcus Gwhendel took her ears as well as the air.

Arms surrounded her, the arms of Septa Alara, Sofya's tutor. An older woman, a face of wrinkles peering from under her headdress. Her hold was near motherly, comforting around her lady. It was there Adilayde broke, in front of all those loyal to House Gwhendel and the former House Stryder. Shaking with sobs, she now had to except the reality that stood in front of her. Marcus and her son Cassius had returned. Beaten and battered from battle, but alive. Zachariah however, had not been so lucky. Grief overtook her, a strangled cry erupting from her lips. It cut through the air, silencing the whispers from the crowed. Zachariah had been loved by all, and had been favored for Lordship over his brother Cassius. Not for his willingness to lead, but for his kindness and compassion. His loss, would be one grieved by all.

With Septa Alara on one side of her, and the strength of her son Cassius on the other, Lady Adilayde was supported. Legs threatening to give out, shaking at the knee. Her voice was lost, larynx weak. Only sobs could escape, as she was caught up in her sorrow. She would be taken to her chambers, the difficult task of breaking the news of their loss to the rest of the young lords and ladies to their father. Adilayde caught sight of the rest of her children through acid tears. They had only made their way to the steps of their castle in time to catch sight of their weeping mother being ushered inside. This made her stomach knot. She had to be strong for them, but how could she be when she had just lost someone so dear to her heart? She could only hope that Marcus could be strong enough for the both of them.


	2. Marcus I

**Reign of the Fallen**

A _Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

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 _Marcus_

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There was chaos around him, yet he could hear nothing at all. Not in the moment, not which his thoughts screamed louder. Amber eyes watched the lips of those speaking int he room, their expressions twisted in anger with the news of their loss. Zachariah. Heir to Fort Stryder, slaughters in cold blood at The Twins. Standing at the head of the table it played over in his mind, haunting him. They had just been among the celebrations, drinking ale and swapping war stories in their camp. They were surrounded by those who fought along side them, soldiers, squires but also friends. Running out of ale, Zachariah had volunteered to fetch more along side their squire. He hadn't been out of sight for long, coming back with his stupid boyish smile and a laugh that brought happiness to all that had heard it. It however, was cut short as his breath was taken by a blade. Blood coated iron, glistening in the light of flickering flames. They had caught eyes just for a moment before he dropped, Northern blue meeting the distinct amber of House Gwhendel. The sight had ripped the poor man's heart out, drawing him into a feral state of mind. Killing all that had challenged him.

"Father," it was the only word that had pulled him from the terrors of his mind. It was spoken from the lips of his son Cassius, Zacariah's twin brother. Unlike his late brother, Cassius was broad and strong, relying on his physical strength rather than assuring he was loved and adored by all. Marcus had always believed that Cassius would be a greater Lord than Zachariah, but he did not want it to happen this way. Not with death.

Together, the two men shared a moment of embrace. Strong arms holding the other near, calloused hands gripping at cotton and furs that hung off broad shoulders. They had no time to mourn at the twins. Little to mourn now, there was much more that needed to be done than shed tears. Someone had to pay for the murder of his son, so it shall be done. Pulling back, he gave his son a nod. How Cassius grew taller than he, he could only guess. The eldest born must have gotten it from Adilayde's father. Fully parted now, he watched as the men around him finally calmed and gave their Lord the silence he needed to speak. Marcus however, struggled to find his words. Speaking of his loss would make it a reality, as if seeing it wasn't enough.

The room was much emptier than he remembered it to be. Loss was much greater than his son. He lost many of those in his guard, men he considered his family more than soldiers to fight for him. To fight for the King of the North, Robb Stark. A heavy breath took him. Deep in his bones he could feel that darkness was to come. No good could come from such bloodshed.

"For many, we are entering a time of mourning," he started off, his voice stronger than he expected. Marcus was never one to display his weakness. To display that he was completely broken inside. "Mourning the loss of brother, fathers, sons. My son. We had fought for our King, King of the North Robb Stark. The kingdom has fallen. Lured into festivities, respected as guests only to land in yet another battle. A battle with many casualties.

"These acts, they will not go ignored. The lives lost, they were not theirs for the taking. Not with such disrespect. Such dishonor. Our enemies can not see our vulnerabilities. This is not a time of weakness. _Perseverance is Power_. These words, the words of my house, have lead us to our strength. We will not be weighed down. We will put our sorrows beneath us, and use them to build us up higher.

His attention was then turned to an older man in the room. Maester Farrin, an essential member of the Gwhendel household. He had been with Fort Stryder longer than Marcus himself as he had been the councellor, tutor and healer to former Lord, Lord Caspian. "Maester, could you remind the room of the words of House Stryder?"

" _We will rise_ , my Lord," the elder man stood as he addressed the man he served.

" _We will rise_ ," the lord repeated as he began to pace, "like the phoenix on our banner, we will not parish. We will be reborn from our suffering and burn all who have brought us such pain. Tonight we shall morn, tomorrow we rise and we will persevere."

With that, he let the room clear until those closest to him remained. His son Cassius, Maester Farrian and captain of the guard Desmore Rogan. As much as he wanted to retire to his chambers, he needed to assure the rest of his family was taken care of. "For the majority, we are confined to the safety of Fort Stryder," he addressed the three of them in an almost fearful tone, "I can not hold all my children dear tonight. Delilah, she still remains in the Capitol in service to the Queen-"

"Her bastard may be King, but Cersei is no queen," his son voiced out, his distaste for the Lannisters blatant. Being raised by his aunt Johanna Lannister, Marcus' face twisted at his son's fowl tone.

"Show some respect for your blood," Marcus growled towards his son, wisps of long, gray hair falling into his face. The blood of the lion ran through their veins, Marcus' mother, Morgana was Lannister born. The roar of a lion was rarely evident, the blonde hair and bright eyes of their bloodline lost in the dominant genes of House Gwhendel and the extinct House Stryder. When Marcus looked at his son Cassius, all he was was Stryder with the exception of one of his eyes. Mainly blue, one had the oddest shape of amber in one quadrant. It was the Gwhendel shining through.

"My blood?" Cassius sounded strongly, standing tall from the table, "my blood is spilled on the lands of Frey. Where my brother lay lifeless!"

"The Lannisters may be the only House with enough power to aid us in our fight for justice," Marcus pointed out to his son, reminding him that at twenty-five years he still had much to learn about leadership and war. "That is why I will be leaving Fort Strdyer to you come sunrise. I plan to ride south. Collect forces from Gwheniver and Casterly Rock while retrieving your sister from Kings Landing."

"Ride south my lord?" the maester let his voice be known.

"I do not have much a choice, not with my biggest allies and my daughter - My daughter," he let out a heavy sigh, frustration taking his form. "I need to get her home. I need her here. I need her safe!"

"You shall not ride alone my lord," Desmore spoke up from leaning against the wall. He was a man in which Marcus trusted completely. Marcus and Desmore had grown up together as Desmore's father had served his own. Once boys who fought in the courtyard of Gwheniver, now fought side by side on the battlefield. Marcus was sure he would be dead if it wasn't for the man and would have joined their families if Rogan was ever to bare children with anyone but a whore. "I will ride by your side," he confirmed, "I will have Warne ready the horses come sunrise."

Lord Marcus approached his captain of the guard, wrapping his arms around him in a strong hold. "Thank you my friend," he told him, "you are one I can always count on during dire need. Now, leave me and my son, we have a number of items to discuss."

Sitting back down at the long,dark wood table was just Marcus and Cassius now. The elder of the two at one end, the younger at the other. Pain could be seen in their eyes, yet they both embodied their strengths. Marcus wanted his son to know that he would not waver, that he would not fail to care for those who remained after their great loss.

"You do know what this means don't you?" Marcus sounded as his hands folded atop the table. "That in my absence, you will be Lord of Fort Stryder. Your family, will be under your care. All in our household will answer to you. Any man, woman or child that comes through our gates will be under your control. Any threat, any bargain will be yours to answer to. A part of me does not think you are ready," he admitted to his son, "prove to me that I am wrong. Prove to me that our House will prevail."

"I will not let you down Father," Cassius promised him, "I will do all I can for our family and our people. I am ready."

The words spoken by his son were quite convincing, Marcus however was still hesitant. He however did not have another choice. Cassius was next in line for Lordship over Fort Stryder and Marcus needed to retrieve their eldest daughter. She was much too vulnerable - much too valuable to be left to the Capitol.

With the assurance that Cassius would have a firm rule over their land, Marcus then took it upon himself to retire to his chambers. He would need all the rest he could get before the long ride ahead of him. A sigh took him as he came to the heavy door. Beyond it he could hear the sorrows of his Lady. Yelps, and choked back sobs. How he was going to break to her that he was to leave, he did not know. Breaking her heart further was the last thing he aspired to do.

The screech of the chamber door was near deafening. Drawing attention to him as he entered. The mass of his Lady's body met his with full force. Adilayde would have knocked him over if he had not been ready for it. An arm wrapping her waist, the other when up to her tangles of hair, holding it to his neck as she hushed her. "My love," he whispered out to her, a kiss then was placed on her forehead, "All will be well again my love. Things will be made right," he promised her.

"My son is dead, how could that be made right?" her words were forced through sobs, almost inaudible to the ears of Lord Marcus.

"We get him the justice he deserves," he told her slowly, a hand leaving the back of her head to stroke dark curls from her face, "and to do this," he paused for a moment and sighed, this was going to kill her. "I must ride south, to Gwheniver, then King's Landing. With Desmore Rogan in my company I will rally my brother and his men, seek aid from the Queen and collect our daughter. With them I will ride home and kill the men who took our son from us-"

"No-" Adilayde sounded and pushed her body from his, "we need you here. With this slaughter there is no saying what will come next for the North."

"It is for that very reason, I must go my love," he told her, voice pained greatly now. "for the unknown may be dangerous for us. The Starks have fallen and we will be asked to kneel to the new Warden's of the North. That is not something I do not think Cassius will be willing to do-"

"But he-"

"He will take my Lordship in my absence, what I would do to protect you will not be the same as his choice of action," he broke to her and reached an arm out in hopes that she would take his hand. "We can not do this alone Adilayde," he reminded her, "there are no allies for us in the North, this is our only option. I fear-" his voice cracked now, mind returning to their daughter, "I fear that the Kings Landing is no longer safe for our daughter in these times of war. We may need her here..."

"Need her here? She serves the Queen, there is no safer place for Delilah," his wife claimed but reached out to take his hand.

"After this, I am not so sure," he broke to her, "we may need her to form allegiance. To form our army."

"Make her a pawn in our war? A token to be wed and traded for soldiers who will parish in the line of fire?" Adilayde spoke, voice growing loud now. There was no sadness left, it had gone to fuel the anger that was now evident in her tone.

It was not a method Marcus favored, but it was how he developed the power he obtained now. He would never have been a Lord, and would have ultimately taken the black if it wasn't for their joining. Marcus also knew that with Delilah's strength an determination, if she did not wed home was a place she would be ready to defend. He did not trust the Lannister's with control over his daughter. It was in the North with her family where she would be the safest.

"If it must be done, it will be done," his voice sounded as he moved to the bed to lay her back, "I leave at dawn. Spending my last hours with you fighting is not my wish. The rising and falling of the sun each day without you will be to great. Lay with me, and for a moment, let me feel no pain," he begged of her, and for the first time since the death of his son, Lord Marcus Gwhendel began to cry.


	3. Cassius I

**Reign of the Fallen**

A _Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

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 ** _Cassius_**

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Come morning, Forst Stryder had been dusted with summer snow. They were far enough north to face the chill of winter all seasons around, but they were nowhere near far enough to constantly suffer from the cold. It was days like these in which Lord Cassius had favored. Growing up, they were perfect for an early morning ride with his twin brother, or breakfast with his family. Today however, he was forced to relieve those memories, as his brother was gone and the rest of his family stood divided across Westeros. Cassius could not even remember the last time they had all be together.

Today, standing on the steps of their home to say goodbye to there father was as close as they could get it seemed. Beside him stood his brother Jonus. At times, some would thing that his brother was in fact the one who was his twin, not Zachariah. Jonas shared the same dark hair and bright eyes as most of the children had. Having his little brother of five years younger by his side made him less anxious to take on his father's lordship in his absence. He wouldn't have to do this completely alone, there was nothing against a little consultation. Right?

The wind tossed at his cape, causing the fur collar to tickle his neck. A hand raised to rub at the irritation as he watch Warne bring his father the horse he would be riding south. It was then his stomach dropped, this was happened, this was actuality happening. A heavy breath erupted up his throat, taking the air in a mist of fog. Time to grow up.

He did not wait to receive a hug goodbye from his father. Instead, he moved down the cold stone steps, slick with the slush of snow. He met the horses, a large hand reaching out to stroke it's mane. "Ride fast, run strong," he told the horse whose nose nuzzled him in expectation of a carrot or a hand full of oats. Cassius was disappointed that he did not have anything to give the steed, but was sure he would find much grass to graze upon as they moved further south.

Glancing back over his shoulder he watched as his father moved along his brother and sisters to say his farewells. He started with Jonus, their embrace brief but they exchanged words. From his distance, Cassius could not hear what was said. A part of him worried that they were speaking of his leadership. That his father was asking his brother to look out for him. That it was his brother Zach that was supposed to be the true heir of Fort Stryder, not Cassius.

His stomach twisted at the thought, threatening to send whatever breakfast he had managed to eat back up and down onto the leather of his boots. Mismatched eyes watched as he moved from one child to the next. It was strange looking at the family in which seemed so very small in the absence of Delilah and Zachariah. Including himself and Jonus, only four remained. The youngest two, stood beside Jonus. Stryder and Sofya. They would only be fourteen come their name day. They were still children in his eyes, yet they would be teaching young Stryder to fight soon. This skill seemed more important than ever now. Hell, he might even teach little Sofya a thing or two to ensure her safety if anything were to ever happen to them.

Soon his father stood before him, dark gray hair tied back and warm riding clothes worn to protect him from the winter's bite. For a moment, the mend just held the others stare, but then bodies came together in an embrace. Eyes shut, threatening to be burned by the heat of tears, but the eldest son did his best to remain strong. "Bring her home," Cassius told his father in regards to his sister. He would ride to her himself, but no one would listen. His father had connections in the south, this was the only way.

"I will," the promising words of his father were muffled into his furs, " _perseverance is power_."

" _We will rise_ ," Cassius countered to him and watched as his father's features fell into a stone-cold look. It was no secret that Cassius favored his mother's line of heritage. He was a man of the North, a Stryder - even if he did bare the name Gwhendel. Taking a step back from the horse, her gave his father the room to mouth the strong steed. It could take as many as six days and nights before he father to return to Fort Stryder. He did hope that with the horses they had chosen, and the small party of men to ride with him that it could take half that time. Being apart for extended periods of time did not feel right in the gut of the new Lord. They needed all the bodies they had if the events of the Twins effected the North in a negative fashion.

With the gallop of the horses and calls from the common people, Lord Marcus and his men took off out the gates, taking on the lands of the North to collect an army and their family. With their depart, the square began to clear, leaving the remaining members of House Gwhendel to stand alone on the steps of their home.

The summer sun was finding it's way into the sky now, warming all beneath it, including the snow that began to melt down into murky puddles. Puddles that splashed up to dirty the black riding boots Lord Cassius wore. Hands reached up to take the heavy cape from his shoulders in his hands. He then handed it off to his brother. He however did not move to retire into the castle with the rest of his family. Instead he took the streets, moving through crowds of common folk, smiling and nodding when they took notice of him, but mostly he kept his head down. Where he was headed, he wanted few to know about. It was not a place he favored to spend his time, but he had a message to deliver.

The building was small, but one of the nicer on the outskirts of the fort. It stood three stories tall, the velvet curtains preventing any from stealing a glance at any of the girls inside. Cassius stood outside for a moment, taking his last breath of fresh air before moving through the passage and into the whorehouse. The place reeked of sex and ale. In the rooms beyond, he could hear the forced moans of the whores that resides and worked in the brothel. How Zachariah spent much of his time in this place, he did not understand.

It took longer than he would have hoped to be met by the owner of the brothel. A young man, Xander was what he had known him as. His family had come North with his father when he had taken claim over Fort Stryder. They were not people Cassius generally trusted, but he had leverage over the man. That gave him a sense of security.

"Lord Cassius," Xander spoke as he pockets coin from a man on his way out the door, "should I have my girls ready for you?"

Shaking his head, he nodded towards the back room. "I have come to talk," he naked woman moved off towards their chambers, full breasts pressed against him in a teasing manner. Taunting him for their service. Cassius kept his head up. He couldn't stoop that low, not as the new lord. There, the room was almost as lavish as his parents room. Drapery of satin and silk dressed the walls. There was a grand desk where Xander would do his work and a bed of many pillows off to the side as when you worked as a brothel keep there was as much work as there was pleasure. That fact, was very clear as two women lay on the bed, one on top of the other. Kissing, humping, grinding and moaning. It was difficult for Cassius to keep his eyes off the women. One with hair as blonde as the summer sun and skin like gold, the other skin pale as eyes and hair as black as coal.

Noticing they had caught the Lord's attention, he watched as the women put on a little show for him. It was enough to make his pants grow tight. He was having hard time resisting now. He nearly choked on his need, as the women were sent from the room to give himself and Xander the room. Eyes glanced the women over, watching their curvaceous bodies jiggle and bounce with each hop of their step. It took Xander making a loud noise with the chair dragging across the floor in a near deafening screech.

"Now, if you did not come for my girls," the man spoke as he sat upon his table, "what brings the new Lord of Fort Stryder to such an establishment?"

Reaching into his pocket be pulled out an medallion his twin once wore. Simple bronze that hung low on his chest, right over his heart. "I come, as it would be what my brother would have wanted." Holding it out to the man he offered him a pained look, he had to have heard of their loss. Once back at Fort Stryder, the news had spread like wild fire. "My brother, he cared deeply for you. He would want you to have-"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Xander cut him off, obviously sweating with nervousness. To lay in bed with another man was seen as taboo among many and often was hidden from all if you had been part of such relations. Zachariah had been one of them. Cassius often caught his brother sneaking off to the brothel, not to lay with women, but Xander. At first, Cassius was angered by this, but soon came to understand that no matter who his brother had chosen to love, he would always be family.

"Yes, you do," Cassius pressed gently and placed the cool phoenix medallion into his palm. "He loved you, whether you choose to acknowledge that or not is your choice. All I know, is that you were the person he came to. Not one of your whores. Now that he is gone," he took a moment to sigh, he would never get used to hearing those words come out of his mouth, "he would want you to know how he truly felt and that is why I have come to give this to you."

Bright eyes watched as Xander took the bronze into his fist. Cassius could only assume he had seen it countless times before. The other man seemed to have spent more time with Zachariah than he had himself the last eight years.

"Thank you my lord," the man spoke, his body no longer tense with his need for defense, "how could I ever repay you?"

Cassius' eyes dropped to his boots for a moment, biting his lip as he thought to himself. What could this man possibly give him that he didn't already have. "I wouldn't mind getting to know that pretty little blonde you had in here," he winked as a coy smirk took his lips. Damn these whores, why did they have to be so tempting?

Judging by the look on the man's face, giving Cassius time with the blonde was something he could comply to. "Now, Ingrid just traveled all the way from the west, was headed for the Capitol when father convinced her to come our way. Something about the Northerners and their endowment so I hope you don't disappoint," he laughed to his Lord lightly as if they had been long time friends, "and treat her kindly, she has much left to learn."

A knock took the door frame of one of the chambers, and soon the pretty blond peeked her head out from behind the curtains in which replaced the door that had once been torn from it's hinges.

"Xander, my Lord," Ingrid greeted them, a playful smile taking her lips.

"Lord Cassius, he requests your company," Xander told her, and Cassius could feel his hand on his back, guiding him forward. "Take as long at you need my Lord." The two were then left alone, the curtains swaying behind him, their shadow dancing across the floor. The young lord held his breath, almost nervous with the thought of laying with the whore. It was not something he had ever considered before as his mother had raised him to cherish consummation as something saved for your bride. Yet, many men found their way to the beds of the brothel.

Hands took his, guiding him to the bed carefully. Could she feel the sweat on his palms? See the hesitation in his eyes?Heart pounding hard on his barrel chest, he almost pulled away. Instead he let Ingrid continue to guide him hesitantly.

"You are nervous," the young woman nodded as she lowered herself to her knees in front of him. Her golden ringlets blocked most of her beautiful body from his view. Pert nipples peaked out between strands, the flesh of her breast bouncing as her hands began to work at his pants.

"This is not a place I spend much of my time," Cassius told her, eyes watching each of her movements. Each touch of her hand, he was sure it was pure magic. "Keep my mind at ease, let me forget the place that rests beyond your door," he begged of her. Shoulders rolled back, then his neck fell to let his eyes stare at the ceiling. "Tell me of your life before-" his words were cut when the hot moisture of Ingrid's lips found the stiffness of his length. In his throat a soft sound of approval made itself known.

"My mother was a whore-" the whore sounded before her lips found him again.

"My father a blacksmith-"

Suck.

"Just got to Fort Stryder in the night, passed many on our journey-" her lips did not make it back to his cock this time. His hands had found her hair, holding her head back so he could look down at her.

"Who? Who were the men who crossed your path?" he asked curiously. He was almost hyper-vigilant now that Fort Stryder was under his rule. Now that the North was burning in the hellish aftermath of the massacre.

"Merchants, and travelers," she spoke out in an almost dreamy voice, "and the Warden of the North."

"The Starks have fallen, there is no way-"

"No, no," she told him near laughing, "Not the Starks. A handsome man, Roose Bolton and his son,what was his name? The Bastard?"

Any arousal Cassius had built up from having the woman suck and stroke at his length was long gone now. His body was overtaken with the worried thoughts that came with living under the rule of the Boltons. With their sigil a man cut flayed man, they were a house to be feared. Soon they would come to seek thought made his stomach sick. Could he kneel to them as the Lord of Forst Stryder, he wasn't so sure.

Picking up his breaches from around his ankles, Cassius tugged them up to his waist and fastened them in place. He had not a moment to waste now. Muttering out a number of apologies to the pretty blonde, along with promises of making it up to her, he stumbled through the curtains and briskly made the walk back to the castle. House Gwhendel would need to be ready.


	4. Delilah I

**Reign of the Fallen**

 _A Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

* * *

 _ **Delilah**_

* * *

Home. It was too far out of reach for Lady Deliah of House Gwhendel. In the mind of the young maiden, home was encompassed by the cold chill of a winter's breeze. Snow dusted the ground, and the warmth of furs would tickled sensitive skin. At home, in the gray stone walls of Fort Stryder, Delilah was surrounded by family. Taking long walks with her mother and sister, and laughing with her brothers. All of that was gone, left behind many days and nights away. And for what? To serve her Queen.

As a favor to her father, Delilah had been granted the honor of leaving the North for King's Landing. It had not been something the Lady of the North had a say in however. Her father's house, her house, had once been based in the Westerlands. Gwheniver was sworn to Casterly Rock. Sworn to House Lannister as it was under their rule. Gwheniver went to her Uncle Magnus, as her father took to the North where he would swear fealty to the Starks. It was a difficult choice to be made or so she was told. The blood of the Lion did course through her father's veins. It called to the South. To the warmth of summer. The lush gardens that lavishly decorated the Red Keep. This was what was to become Delilah's new home. A place for her to become a proper lady and to hopefully wed a Lord of noble upbringing. This was what her father expected of her, but how could she find a husband when she rested in the shadow of those she served?

Although it was shallow, Delilah was put at ease when Princess Myrcella Baratheon had been betrothed to the heir of Dorne. She was beautiful with her blonde mane and bright eyes. Women of such Andal beauty were well sought after in the South. Delilah did not inherit similar looks from her father and his bloodline. The golden strands of her father had been lost to the dark hair of the first men. The dark hair that had been passed on in the blood of House Stryder. Eyes had taken her father's amber hues, an unusual sight for both the North and the South. They were pools of liquid gold, but they did not seem to be the treasure people sought out after.

A highborn handmaiden, Delilah did have privileges others did not have the luxury of having. The expectations held over the young woman did not include emptying chamber pots or readying bath water. Delilah's duties rather were to offer company and companionship to the queen. Share her bed on nights the King had chosen to lay with painted whores, assist in the dressing of her queen in gorgeous gowns, and accompany to any event Cersei desired to have company. Since the passing of King Robert Baratheon, and the rise of King Joffery Baratheon, Cersei more often than not, had the Northern girl by her side.

A small council meeting was what was faced by the Northerner. It was not often that a woman of her status was granted permission to stand among those hand picked by the King to sit on his council. Cersei however, had insisted that the dark haired beauty remain as long as her mind did not rest in their business and that she served the council as they needed over the duration of their meeting. Few were in attendance this evening. Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, the pin resting proudly on his chest. Beside him, Grand Maester Pycelle dressed in his heavy black robes. It was a wonder to Delilah how a man so frail could manage to walker under such heavy drapery of fashion. It was across from the Grand Maester that Delilah stood in her silken gown behind her queen. She felt out of place her, but also privileged. How many could say they were in the company of people with such status? Within an arms reach was the Master of Whispers. Varys. A plump man from across the Narrow Sea. He was one of few Delilah found herself afraid of. There was nothing this man did not know. He would make or break one's world with a singke word as he was the eyes and ears of the Red Keep. The spider. There was one vacant seat at the table, it was not for her King. He was too pleased with himself to be able to sit. He was practically prancing around the room with Lannister pride.

The final seat was to be taken by Tyrion Lannister, former hand to King Joffery. Footsteps of his short strides echoed through the room as he was last to attend. The imp was what he was infamously known as. He stood up to her waist, and was further dwarfed by his bride Sansa. Moving from her Queen's side for just a moment, the handmaiden poured the last born Lannister a chalice of wine before offering it to him with a smile. She didn't hold eye contact with him to long out of respect for his Lady Sansa. She knew of the man's history. Often laying with whores before his joining with the Tully-haired Stark. The last thing she wanted as to give the Lord the wrong ideal. Delilah was an honorable woman. She had yet to lay with any man, and would not dare try to get between a Lord and his Lady.

Before the stubby fingers of the imp could take the cup, it was knocked from the delicate hands of the young maiden with the force of the Kings body colliding with her own. He was a young lion cub, high on excitement, with no control over his actions - or so it seemed to Delilah. It could also be that the king did not care who stood in his way.

"Show him. Come on, show him," the young king bellowed out and gave no mind to the wine stained silk Delilah was now forced to dawn. She after all, was just a handmaiden to him, therefore she was beneath him. Delilah did not dare speak up in regards to the humiliation she felt. This was her King. Speaking against him and his actions could earn grave punishment she was in no position to face. Instead, she just took a step back and let the king run his course.

From the shadows, Delilah watched as the old maester struggled to hand of a narrow roll of paper off to Lord Tyrion. It was not without struggle, the paper hitting the floor once before reaching the hands of the short Lord. It was there between fingers it was pulled apart and read from full lips; "Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding. Signed Walder Frey."

It had been the first time Delilah's ears had heard the message from the Twins, but it had caused her stomach to knot. From the last letters she had relayed with her mother, Delilah had learned that the Twins was where her father and brother were headed with Robb Stark and his army. Fighting the urge to vomit, she looked towards her king and awaited his interpretation of the message.

"Is this bad poetry, or is it supposed to mean something?" Tyrion sounded again, and the young woman sighed, relieved that she too did not completely understand the note.

"Robb Stark is dead," the young king celebrated, a cackle erupting from his throat. This was the opposite reaction of the young phoenix whom wept in the shadows. If the Starks had fallen, what happened to her family? What of them? Had they fallen victim to the wrath of Walder Frey and his men as well? "And his bitch mother," the foul brat continued to boast in all his glory, as if it was his hand that had taken their lives. It made Delilah sick, acid bile rising in her throat as she fought ever fiber of her being to to go off on her king. "Write back to Lord Frey. Thank him for his service and command him to send Robb Stark's head. I'm going to serve it to Sansa at my wedding feast."

It was then the brunette was ready to snap and moved from the darkness to stand behind Cersei, "My Queen-" she went to speak but was cut out by a growing argument lead by Joffery. The bloody bastard sure did know how to get in her way. Words were past between those in attendance. First Varys, then Cersei and her brother, finally Joffery himself until Lord Tywin put an end to the stubborn madness that had overtaken the room.

"Any man who must say, I am the king is no true king. I'll make sure you understand that when I've won your war for you," the words of Tywin however, only brought more childish screeching from the king. It practically made Delilah's ears bleed. Her youngest brother Stryder would be a better king, even if he was not yet capable of wielding a sword.

"My father won the real war. He killed Prince Rhaegar," Joffery took off on his high and mighty horse. If only he knew the rumors, the ones that suggested that he was not the true heir to the iron throne. The rumors in which his uncle was his true father. The young maiden had once heard those suggestions from the traitor Eddard Stark. They were words that had never left her. Yes, it called the honor of her Queen into question, but nothing seemed to make more sense. "He took the crown while you hid under Casterly Rock!"

"The king is tired," Delilah could not help but to snicker at the words of the Lannister Lord. He gave no care to the status of his grandson and was one of the few that cad the courage to put him in his place. This pleased Delilah greatly, and her pleasure brought great anger to her king.

"You find something funny do you?" Joffery taunted, taking a step forward to stand toe to toe with Delilah. She held her breath, his tall form looking down over her. She however did not look away from him as she did his uncle. She would not show her submission here. Her father taught her better than to cower away under threat, she imagined however that he would be displeased with the fact that she was challenging her king.

"No my Lord," the lie left her lips with ease, this seemed to anger him further as his features turned a pale shade of pink.

"You lying little cunt," he cursed, grasping a hand full of dark hair at the nape of her neck. The tension made the woman's head lean back further, or risk losing half her hair, "I will have your head on a fucking spike!"

"See him to his chambers!" The voice that erupted was not one Delilah had expected to come. She had half expected the room to watch Joffery beat her down, but Lord Tywin had found his way to his feet, challenging the king himself. The shock lessened the grasp on her hair, enabling the handmaiden to pull from her kings grasp and to moved towards the man who had spoken for her. As for that moment, he was her safety.

Delilah remained behind Lord Tywin until her Queen had managed to remove the flustered Joffery from the room. Taking a moment, she let out a heavy breath. "Thank you my Lord," she told him after a moment, her legs bending in a curtsy. "Now, if you would excuse me, I should ready the Queen's chambers for the night," Delilah told the Lannisters that remained but was further held up when Tywin pulled a letter from his coat. One that bare the sigil of her house, the phoenix. The wax had been broken, Delilah could only assume he had read it prior to letting it reach her hand. She could understand why. In his eyes the Stark's were traitors. Her father had once knelt to Eddard Stark, and had chosen to ride along side Robb in his war against Joffery for slaughtering his father. If it wasn't for their shared blood, and the claim that their loyalty to House Stark was purely strategic, Delilah's head would have been on a stake long ago.

"What does it read?" Delilah spoke out after a moment of chewing on her lower lip. It was a nervous habit since childhood. Her mother had once said it was what caused her full lips, and cautioned her to stop. Delilah however, knew that to be rubbish and continued what was considered an unladylike and rather whorish practice.

"A note from your father," Tywin spoke bringing relief to the young woman's form. The tension could no longer be seen in her shoulders, and a sigh of relaxation had taken her body. A letter from her father meant he was alive. "I must say child, it does not bare good news."

It was then that her heart dropped. An arm extended to her, the paper in her reach now. Hesitant fingers took hold of the parchment, her lean frame taking the seat her queen once sat upon. It was there she read the letter a raven had brought.

 _My Dearest Delilah,_

 _I hate to deliver such news with the flight of the raven. The family has suffered a great loss. Zachariah has been slain. We may be many realms apart, but you do not stand alone-_

Eyes blurred by tears, Delilah could not bare to read the remaining words written in her father's hand. They brought to much pain to her chest. The pressure making it far to hard to breath. Zachariah had been too good for the war. Too kind. A lover, not a fighter. He shouldn't have been on the battlefield. Delilah did not doubt he was trying to prove himself to their father, as well has his twin brother.

"Lady Delilah," it was the voice of Tyrion Lannister now. Delilah hadn't noticed the man raise to his feet and join her by her side. "I would like to offer my greatest condolences. Your brother and I, we had met once on my travels back from the Night's Watch. He was a great man, full of life, respected all and only wronged those who had done wrong to him. There need be more men like him in our many realms. Would have made a great lord-"

"Yes, he would have been," she caught the half-man off, her composure slipping. Tears burned the inner corners of her eyes, slowly dripping down over the height of her cheekbones. "I-" she started but her voice was cut with a breath of a sob, "I would like to return to Fort Stryder. To be with my family. I ask you, Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King to grant me permission to go home," he words had been ones of desperation. To be home in her mother's arms was the one thing she craved. To stand with her brothers and sister as the war raged on, and assure that she would not lose anyone else like she had Zachariah.

The room was left in silence, the old man in thought. He had to say yes, she thought. The stories told of Marcus' upbringing were ones Delilah had remembered well. Her grandmother, sister to Johanna Lannister had died in the birth of her daughter. Leaving the three children to be raised by Lord Gwhendell. It was a struggle for the lord, leading him to seek assistance from his late lady's family. Johanna had aided without thought. Raising the three children along side her own twins Jamie and Cersei. That was until the birth of Tyrion. With his birth, Marcus had been stripped of another mother figure. This hardened him, as did having two men forming him into the leader he had become. Tywin had to understand the bond of family. As those who suffered loss, knew the importance of keeping your blood close.

"My dear, that is not something I can permit," Tywin broke to her, his tone apologetic, "I promised your father that as handmaiden of Cersei you, would learn to be a proper lady. That I would find you a Lord to wed. With the raging of wars across the lands, there are not many who can be trusted. It is here, in King's Landing were you will be the safest. No harm can come to you here."

"Safe? You and I, were we not in the same room moments ago? When my king was seconds from laying harm upon me?" Delilah spoke out to him, her features over taken by disbelief, "explain to me how that is supposed to make me feel safe!"

"There are monsters greater than that boy beyond these walls," Tywin cautioned her, taking a step forward to place a hand on her arm, "in the days to follow you will come to understand. We cannot abandon all you have done for us here, how much you have grown and will continue to grow. This is your place. Not the north. Now, I recall that the Queen's bed must be readied for her."

There was no use in arguing with him now. Tywin was the Hand of the King after all. What he said was final, even if she did not like it. It was no reason for her to make a fool of herself as Joffery had prior. Instead, the tiny brunette just nodded her head, curtsied to the Lannister men out of respect and excused herself from the chamber.

Walking the corridors of the castle alone was a foreign feeling as she was almost always in the company of another handmaiden or the queen. Walking though the emptiness, Delilah was left with her thoughts. Oh, how they tormented her. Imagination running wild, she thought of her brother Zacharaiah. Had he died quickly? Painfully? Had he suffered? There was so much she had yet to learn of the events that had broken up her family. Living in the Red Keep, would she ever learn the truth? King's Landing was not a place for honesty after all. All that happened here, was survival.

The queen's chambers were the most lavish Delilah had ever set eyes on. Walls were draped in fine white silk. Candles stood high on their sticks, flames flickering, wax dripping down into gold. The bed had four posts, sweet suede casting a shadow across thin sheets where Delilah had half expected to find the queen asleep. She however, had yet to retire.

Taking this time alone, Delilah snuffed some of the candles to dim the room. She then pulled back the sheets and looked over the comfort in which she had spent many of her nights. Some of those were spent in slumber, other however they had talked until the sun found the sky once more. The relationship he had with Cersei was one Delilah had come to cherish. She was like the older sister she never had. A hand stroking the smooth cotton, Delilah wouldn't help but wonder if her queen was request her company for the night. The alternative would be to retire to her own chambers that had seemed to far at this hour.

Risking punishment, Delilah dressed down into the light robes she dawned to bed when she lay in the company of her queen. Thin fabric that left little to the imagination. It had been a gift from Cersei, claiming she had worn it before the birth of her children. Liking the way it fit on her frame and how it kept her cool on hot summer nights, Delilah kept the excuse for a night gown. Crawling into the bed, Delilah made sure room was kept for Cersei when she decided to wind down for the night. Although her head was loud with the yearning of being with her family, sleep took the young lady into her dreams with ease.


	5. Jaime I

**Update:** A Trailer for Reign of the Fallen has been place on youtube under the name: " _Wattpad Trailer: Reign of the Fallen_ "

* * *

 **Reign of the Fallen**

 _A Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

* * *

 _ **Jaime**_

* * *

The road to King's Landing had been one of great difficulty. It was a journey that had only come to happened because of a mother's desperation to be with her children once more. Life would be much different for the Kingslayer if he had been left in the cage to rot by Lady Catelyn. It is there in the camp of House Stark under the reign of The King of the North, Robb Stark he would have died. Sometimes, he wish he had been killed for taking the life of Lord Rickard Karstark's son. It would have saved him great amounts of pain, but his honor had been called into question. It was something he needed to prove, even if it was to those considered the enemy.

Released from his captivity, he was given one objective in exchange for his freedom: Return Sansa and Aria Stark to their home of Winterfell. With him, he had one man - well woman - to act as his guard. Brienne of Tarth. At first glance, many would mistake the tall, broad woman with her femininity lost in her armor and blonde hair cropped short. Jamie however, would have never asked another to guide him home. For the tension between one another had dissipated, and he would say that a form of friendship had been formed. She had assured his life would be kept, as he did the same for her when the time did come. There had been battles between them, both by sword and by word and had no causalities. All that was lost was not at her fault. The loss of his sword hand, that was at the fault of Locke.

Although Jamie was still pained by his loss, and was easily disgusted when his eyes fell upon the stump at which his hand once rested he could not be more relieved as he walked through the gates of King's Landing. He, after over a year of suffering, was finally home. Near unrecognizable with a beard grown thick on his face, hair longer than he had even had before, and clothes that had seen better days, he looked like a commoner. Many had made that clear when he had emerged through the gates with Brienne at his heels.

Snide remarks left the lips of men as he shuffled forward through the cluttered streets. Their words stated that this place was not meant for men like him, obviously not realizing to whom they were actually speaking. This place was his more than any as uncle - no, father of the King. Jamie however, did not take the time to correct them. He was too tired. Too weak. He had one objective left on his mind. One thing that had kept him going when death was drawing him near. His love. His sister. Cersei.

She was what he thought about when he found sleep, and was the first thing he thought of when he aroused in the morning. Her long, blond tendrils and how they felt of silk in his calloused hands; creamy skin that tasted so sweet on his lips; and the way she felt around him as they made love. Those were the things he lived for. As they crossed his mind again, he was faced with a sudden burst of energy. Cersei was so close, and he needed to get to her.

Pushing through the streets, Jamies moves as quickly as his tired feet could take him. What started as a run grew slower with every step. Countless times he wound find himself nearly tripping over dragging boots, but each time he caught himself. He was determined to make it. He was too close to give up now. Soon, his hands was dragging against the wall of the Red Keep, taking the route he could walk in his sleep. The path to his sister's chambers.

The door was almost too heavy for him, but with all the strength he could muster he pushed the heavy wooden doors open with a screech. His steps were slow as he entered. Had he waken her? Had she already left to start her day? The room had been just how he remembered, simple elegance. Finally, he felt at peace. Moving in a little further, he took in the scent of the room. It smelt like home.

"Cersei?" his words left his lips in a near whisper when he did not see her as first. Moving deeper within the room, he spotted a figure in the bed. That had to be her. A smile splayed beneath his beard, she had been wearing the sheer fabric she had dawned when she was young. When he body had been untouched with the swell of a child. It had been many years since she had seen her in it. It was the best thing to return to.

"Cersei," he sounded again in hopes of pulling her from her sleep. As he grew closer her could make out details he could not see from the entryway. The swell of her hip as she lay on her side. Legs tangled with the heavy blankets. Her tiny waist draped in the sheer fabric. Long brown tendrils that cascaded over her features-

He froze. This was not his sister. Confusion took over him, was his mind playing tricks on him now? Moving towards the bed, his hand reached out taking the shoulder of the slim form. The tough obviously startled the young woman, her body rolling over quickly. Eyes were wide with fear, then came a scream that rattled his ears. The warmth of her body left his hand as she moved to get far from him. She stood on the other side of the bed, her feet itching to run but instead she stayed.

Why did she remain? Did she feel vulnerable in the gown that left her exposed? He would not blame her if she did. The pale pink, sheer fabric even had him staring through at what she had to offer to a man. Wide hips; perfect for child barring, a tiny waist, and breasts to perfect handfuls that perked up in the cool morning breeze. When his eyes met the young woman's features, his fave contorted into further confusions. He had seen these features once before. Many years prior, how had they not aged?

"Adilayde?" he sounded, voice stronger than when he had spoken his sister's name. He was regaining his strength again. This could not be possible. There had to be some explanation for- Then it hit him, Adilayde's eldest daughter. Handmaiden to his sister. There was the answer to the questions that boggled his mind.

"Lady Delilah, my apologies-" his words were cut by the screech of the door, then a series of quick paced footsteps. When Jamie looked away from the brunette, he found the woman he had been looking for. The sight of her left him breathless. She was running to him - no, to the girl. He watched as a motherly embrace took hold of the handmaiden, shielding her body from his sight.

"Cersei," he finally spoke again, his words finally meeting his sisters ears. Her eyes grew wide as she finally recognized the dirty, hairy man that had infiltrated her chambers. Then, her face fell, there was no expression Jamie could recognize now. Was she happy? He had hoped she would be. She was his one love after all. Before he could speak again, Lannister guards had flooded the room. He could only assume that Delilah's screams had been heard and the knights sent in result. They moved in on him, prepared to take him. The voice of his sister however kept them in one place.

"Stop," her voice was crisp and firm. She was not a stranger to power. "The man before you, is no common man. This is my brother."

Two words took the room in a series of whispers: the kingslayer.

With the dismissal of the guards, Jamie remained the the room with his sister and her handmaiden. His eyes were stuck of his sister now, in awe with how little she had changed. There was only one difference. Her affection was gone. This made his stomach knot as he hoped it was result of being in the company of the Stryder - no, Gwhendel girl.

"Shall I excuse myself my Queen?" the short brunette spoke for the first time, drawing Jamie's eyes to her for a moment. Smart girl, knew just when she was not needed. Or so he thought.

"No," Cersei answered and stroked the woman's arm gently. "I need you to tend to Jamie. I want no one else seeing him this way."

"Yes my Queen," Delilah nodded and bowed in the slightest to display her respect for his sister. Jamie however, was brought Jamie taken by a heavy sigh in attempt to remain in control of his frustration. He had face much hardship, traveled great lengths to return to his love Cersei and now she could not stand to be in a room with him?

To protest was his first instinct, but as he parted his lips, Cersei was already gone. Left alone with the handmaiden again, he watched as she covered herself up with a robe. Modesty had taken the young Lady now as he was no longer a threat to her. Jamie made no effort to move now, caught in his mind. Why had Cersei given him to the maiden like that? Did she no longer hold the love they once shared in her heart any longer? Had she founds another to share her bed?

The touch of gentle hands pulled him from his mind. They had been placed on his arm in which was captured in his sling, before traveling up his chest to remove it from his shoulders. Eyes remained on the stump, her lips slightly parted in awe. More often than not, a man would have died from such injury. If the blood loss did not take him, the infection did. Jamie was one of the few to be considered lucky. Next, came the removal of his chemise, exposing his malnourished body to her. When she did not appear phased her was relieved. It was there she stopped. Leaving him in his trousers.

"Thank you," he muttered to her. Dressing, and undressing had been something that had grown much more difficult with his loss.

"You called me by my mother's name," she finally founds words to speak to the kingslayer.

"Yes," he confirmed, there was no denying the mistake he had made in identifying the woman. "Your resemblance to her, is undeniable. Near duplicates except-"

"For my father's eyes," Delilah cut in softly. He could only assume those were words she heard quite often.

"Yes, save for his eyes," he nodded and sat down for the woman who had fetched a pair of scissors for his mess f hair. "You know, I was there the day your father wed your mother?" he offered brief conversation as sheers began to cut off thick strands. His attendance had not been planned. He had not known of the wedding at all when had had left Casterly Rock with the intent of taking the Northern beauty as his bride to please his father. Upon arrival however, he was forced to offer his congratulations to the man he accepted as a brother.

"I hear it was a small affair," she spoke as gentle hands pulled his hair back from the strong features of his face. "With few in attendance and little to show for it. Mother didn't even have a proper dress."

"No, but she did look quite beautiful," he assured the young handmaiden, "she need not a gown to prove that. Marcus and Adilayde, they are lucky to have one another. It did not look bright for House Stryder-"

"You need not remind me," she spoke bitterly as she rounded to his front. "For a phoenix to rise, it must first fall," as she spoke hand reached out, touching the rough hair of his beard. A brow was quirked up at him, silently asking if it could go.

Taking her hand, her moved it back from him. He then took the scissors to cut the wild strands back until they would be short enough to shave.

"Would you like a bath drawn for you Ser Jamie?"

She had been halfway to the tub when Jamie reached out to stop her. "No, you are not the average handmaiden. You, you are a Lady. A woman of such status need not draw a bath-"

"I insist Ser-"

He shook his head, doing his best to pull his thin cotton shirt back onto his form. "Lady Delilah, if you would excuse me, I will finish with this in the company of another. Another whose innocence is not so pure." He watched as his words left a confused expression on her face. As her lips parted to counter his words his feet began to move towards the exit. "Good day Lady Delilah, and thank you."

With the door shut behind him, he leaned hack against it's strong support? Why had it been so difficult to be in a room with her. His heart continued to pound hard and the palm of his hand sweat. Delilah's resemblance to her was too great. Adilayde. His first love who wasn't his own sister. Their joining was near set in stone before the plague took her family. Before her father could give the final decision. With his life sworn to the King's Guard, Jamie abandoned the idea of Lordship and remained close to his twin sister. You did not chose who you loved, but he loved Cersei. Question was, did she still love him and was this young lady going to stand in the way of was he believed to be true love?


	6. Cassius II

**Update:** A Trailer for Reign of the Fallen has been place on youtube under the name: " _Wattpad Trailer: Reign of the Fallen_ "

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 **Reign of the Fallen**

 _A Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

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 _Cassius_

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The pressure that had come with lordship had exceeded the expectations of the new lord of Gwhendel. Cassius knew it was not going to be easy to fill his father's shoes, but it was ten times more difficult than anticipated. There were complaints to be heard, sentences to pass and his family to care for all while assuring that those on his land were safe during the times of war. In the days following his father's absence he had already been forced to take a man's hand, another he had sent to the wall. He was making himself known as a strong lord with little to know mercy for those who tried to go against their laws. Cassius demanded and earned the respect of his people.

Gaining this respect however, was tiresome. With dusk falling, Cassius had retired to his chambers early. Sitting at the end of the bed, his back arched over, elbows resting on his knees. From there his head was in his hands, swarmed with his duties and the pressures he now faced. One however weighed heaviest on his mind. As the Lord of Fort Stryder, he would need to produce an heir to follow. For that to happen however, he would first need to take a wife. The thought brought him great anxiety, to the point of illness. His parents did not yet betroth him. Now it seemed, that it was left to his choosing. His options seemed quite slim in his mind. There was the Whitehill girl, hell, he didn't even know her name but knew she was not a true option for him. This was due to a history he did not quite understand. His family was allied with many along side House Forrester. It had been one held strong for many years, one that their families greatly respected. The Whitehills and the Forrester Houses had been enemies for as long as Cassius could remember. He would not destroy the alliance with House Forrester just for the chance of an heir. There had to be more options.

Standing, Cassius began to walk the room. Long strides carried him around the perimeter, the thought of different woman coming an going in his mind. The Stark girls were out of the question. Sansa had wed Lord Tyrion and no one knew of Aria's status. She was dead for all he knew. For a long while, he contemplated perusing Lady Mira Forrester. The eldest of the Forrester girls. Born after Rodrick and Asher, the same year as his sister Delilah. Her situation was complicated however, she serves as a handmaiden to Margery Tyrell. Retrieving her would be as difficult as bring Delilah home.

As he tried to brainstorm other noble women, but his mind however kept stumbling back to one who held little to no value in the eyes of man. Ingrid, the simple whore. Something about her had drawn him in, leaving his mind to fall on her day and night. Cassius wanted so desperately to return to her room at the brothel, and indulge in all she had to offer. Yet, he resisted. Could taking her hand be the answer? Was it something he could even consider? His parents wouldn't let him marry a whore, would they?

The thoughts made his head spin, an arm reaching out to steady himself on a near chair. It was a pair of gentle hands meeting his back to keep him steady that made Cassius realize he was no longer alone. His mother had made her way into his room, a worried expression on her face from seeing him stumble.

"I am well mother," he promised her, turning around to take her cold hands in his. He did his best to assure her, but he could tell by the look in her bright eyes that she did not believe it for a second. "A lot be on my mind," he admitted after a moment, his large hands letting go of her small so he could sit in the chair he once sought support from. The wood was firm and strong underneath him, his legs spread as her lounged in his seat.

Feminine fingers found his black curls, stroking the silken strands in attempt to sooth the lord. Tension was evident in the way his shoulders rested stiffly, and how his breaths were constantly shallow. Unlike his father, Cassius liked to keep things to himself, to show no weakness. As he sat alone with his mother, the new lord was beginning to crack.

"I don't know what to do mother," he muttered through dry lips, "There is so much happening at once. My mind knows no rest. Constantly thinking. Worrying. In days, I have not slept." How his father did this, Cassius would never understand. Then again, his father spent years as their Lord, many of which lay dormant from war. Until now. "The Boltons ride for Fort Stryder to ask for our fealty and I have no bride to bare me an heir. No woman of noble birth can be mine mother. Not now, not while allegiances will be made or broken by this bond I choose make."

"You need not marry one of noble birth," she promised him as hands traveled down to stroke the smooth skin of his neck. "You marry any of your choosing and if she does not give you a son, another can take her place," she assured him.

Features distorted. He could not think of a woman in such a way. They were not something to be thrown away. Cassius would fully commit to his bride. She would be his, and he would be hers. Together they would rule. "There is only one woman I want, but what others will think. She is no honest woman mother, but a whore," he broke to her, voice weak.

Adilayde was silent for a long time. Her hands could no longer be felt against the warm of his skin. His words had obviously taken her by surprise. Fear filled Cassius' chest, terrified what his mother now thought of him. He was not a man to bed another whore every night, he had yet to lay in bed with any woman. It was just that young Ingrid had captured his heart with her sinful temptations. "She had been brought to the brothel not long after the Red Wedding. She is took beautiful to be within those walls mother-"

Mismatched eyes found their way to his mother, looking at her desperately. She had to give him guidance. Tell him what to do. Cassius knew what his heart wanted, but was that something the rest of the realm could understand? Would they respect him as greatly as they did now if they knew he planned to wed a whore?

"If she accepts your proposal," Adilayde spoke out, her voice firm with control. Cassius may be lord, but she would never stop being his mother. "No one can know of where she had come from. Those who do, will be payed off and if they dare to speak we send them to the wall. I will not have the reputation of this House be lost on a common whore."

It was a difficult task not to be offended by the words of his own mother. This difficult part was that she was right. It was not everyday a man of his status would degrade himself so low to actually marry a whore. Fuck them? Yes, but never more than that. With all his force, the young Lord had to bite his tongue as to not treat his mother with disrespect. He swore, at one point he could taste blood.

"Of course mother," he finally sounded after he fought back the words he truly wanted to speak, "no one will know, just she and I. You and me. It will be the best for our family." Suddenly, he felt guilty. Would he be able to keep this secret from all? If he couldn't, what consequence would it have on their people. "Mother I-"

"Hush my son," he spoke, her voice taking a gentler tone now, "all will be well. Although a whore, this will be a safer move for our family. We draw no set allegiance in the snow with your joining. It will give us the time needed to prepare for the war we have now become apart of."

"There is only one clear side to be on mother," Cassius claimed to her gently, "and that is the side in which opposes those of the Frey. They are responsible for taking Zachariah from us. I will not let them get away with it. If I much run with the wolves, then so be it."

"And risk further loss-"

"It is a risk that need to be taken, it will not go unjustified. I would render myself slain if it meant that any man that followed me into battle would avenge the death of my brother. It is not me that they wanted as their lord, but him. I am not the only one angered by his loss. We will have an army, one that will bring justice to the North."

"It is no you who gets to decide when and if justice is served for your brother," Adilayde displeased him with her words. "It is not you that is Warden of the North, but Roose Bolton. His bastard will be at our gates come morning to ask for our fealty. Resisting would not end well for you my son. Please, do as he asks of you-"

His mother's words had been begging, and caused his heart to ache. How could he be expected to kneel before those who had taken their position from the Stark's so viciously? His mother couldn't expect him to roll over and submit, could she?

"I do not know if that is an act I can allow. They fought alongside the Frey's, mother. They had a hand in this battle. They had slain Robb Stark. My brother - Your son!"

The room fell silent, all that went heard was the wind whistling through the window cracks. No one moved, eyes glued to the other. Angers was all Cassius could feel, choking his throat and balling his fists. Was his mother daft? How could he kneel to those he held responsible for so much pain and heartache? It was something Cassius could not bare to do. It would go against all he believed in. Resisting would be worth the risk, wouldn't it?

"I think that it is time to retire for the night," Cassius broke the silence, his voice as cold as the approaching winter. "We have much to attend to come morning. It would be best if we were well rested don't you think?" A strong hand found his mother's back, guiding her from his room. It was as far as he took her, but he kept walking. He had one last objective to attend to before he could find rest.

The streets of Fort Stryder had been taken by darkness. Most had closed up shop, and returned home for a night of rest. Some however, ran wild with the night. In the pub some were found, gulping ale until it put them to sleep. Others could be heard from great lengths away. Moaning erupting out the windows of the whore house. His destination.

With his heart pounding so hard he could feel it against his chest, Cassius pushed through the door of the brothel. He was only half surprised to find a man fucking a painted whore in the entry way. There were not many things Cassius did not expect from a place like this. Relief took him when women did not swarm him. They were far to busy to waste time greeting every man who walked through the door. Pushing the moans to the back of his mind, Cassius moved deeper into the building, towards the private backroom. It however, was the loudest room in the place. Not with moans and shrieks of pleasure, but with screams and harsh tones. It was only upon entry, Cassius could get a solid observation of what was taking place. A man had been dissatisfied with a woman's service and had come to get his payment back. He had a hard grasp around her arm, and she struggled against it but was too weak. The woman was Ingrid.

"Unhand her!" Cassisus' voice erupted as he threw himself further into the room. The distress on the young woman's features made him quick to anger. No one would ever treat her with such disrespect again.

"My lord-"

"Dare not speak, you are lucky if I let you walk from here with your cock in its place," the threat left his lips with ease, strong arms moving to encase the woman in his hold. "Give the bastard his coin, I have much more to offer you," he spoke to Xander who did not go against the word of his lord. With a quick exchange, it was soon the owner of the brother, the lord and the whore alone in the private room.

"Have you come to finish your business my lord?" Xanders assumed as her hands gestured the room. "I can offer my parlor at normal wages my Lord-"

"No, I have not come for such desires, but one stronger. I ask of you and your woman Ingrid to do me an honor. I must wed a common woman, my allegiances much be unclear going into this war. The moment I have set eyes on Ingrid I knew she was meant for greater things than this, and you are a man I have come to trust greatly as had Zachariah. I beg of you, let me take her hand and swear no one will know of her origins. I shall give you masses of gold if you wed her to me under the watch of the Old Gods in the forest tonight."

It was a strange feeling to wake up in the morning and not have the other side of the bed cold as ice. At once where crisp morning air rested, there was a silken body radiating her own warmth against that of the lord. His Lady. Lady Ingrid Gwhendel of Fort Stryder. With freshly fallen snow under their feet, they had been joined by the maester as his father was taking his travels south. He couldn't have been more relieved in that moment. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders with his marriage to Ingrid. Her apparent pleasure of joining him had made the even much greater. She had appeared just has happy as he was and had wasted no time consummating their marriage.

Sending a rough hand over her waist, he pulled her closer to protect her from the harsh morning cold. He knew they couldn't remain in bed for long as the House Bolton would soon be at their gates, but he wanted to savor this a little longer. "My lady," he hummed out to her, voice remaining groggy with sleepy. Chiseled features cuddled into long golden strands, taking in her sweet scent as he soon found her neck to kiss.

"M'lord?" Came a soft whisper from the lips of the woman who lay at his side. The way she snuggled closer to him, caused a smile to splay over lips. Sharing his bed was definitely something he could get used to. Soon, his bride was facing him, bright eyes looking up over tired features. "I have shared my bed with many men," she told him slowly, words near cracking in her throat, "but never has a man held me like you have.

His hand met her face now, not in a slap but a gentle caress. "The only bad you will be sharing is mine with me in it," he assured her, "you will know no pain, feel no sorry as my duty to you is to assure your safety and happiness. I will love you and I hope, with time we will find love together as my mother and father did before us-"

"Brother-" the voice of Jonas Gwhendel, third born son of Adilayde and Marcus had filled the room following the creak of the old door. There was a sense of alarm in his voice, causing Cassius to shoot into a sitting position. Blankets pooled at his hips, but his body, broad with strength was more than enough to shield the nakedness of Ingrid's perfect body. "Scouts have returned reporting Ramsey Bolton in their sights. It will not be long 'til he is waiting at our gates."

The news of House Bolton's pending arrival caused the young Lord to pull himself from bed. He showed no shame as he walked across the room ass naked to his clothes. The fact his lady acted in the same matter was amusing to him. Men seeing her naked was the norm, they had nothing to hide.

"Eyes on me brother," Cassius laughed out in a teasing manner, "that is my lady you are ogling," he continued playfully before sending Ingrid a playful wink. The stammering apologies made by his brother were sweeter than lemon cakes.

It didn't take long until he was fully dressed and standing before his brother. "Now, how about you and I go give Ramsey Bolton a proper welcome?" This proposition brought the boys to life. Sparks had become flickering flames ready to burn all in their path. Quick steps carried them through the corridors of their home, and son they were among his men, waiting in the courtyard. Taking to their horses, the two brothers lead the way to the gate as if it were a path not often taken. Upon arrival, men waited on the other side. Leading them the Bastard of Bolton.

Cassius did not fear Ramsey Bolton, but he realized that may be his most foolish mistake. The bastard may be ugly with his untamed dark strands, eyes like dirty ice and skin wind-burnt into the palest shade of pink. Looks however meant now - if they had, there was no doubt the chiseled Lord of Fort Stryder would win. What mattered here, was power. Power Cassius did not have.

"Lord Bolton, welcome to Fort Stryder. My father send his apologies that he could not welcome you himself, but he has business to attend to in the south," Cassius spoke out, remaining mounted on his horse. He would not get down to the man's level. Not yet. "Now, if you can follow me off, we can get to our own business."

Watching Ramsey, Cassius could see the look of dissatisfaction on his features. It almost made him smile, but he must remain firm and lordly as his father would have been. This was the type of situation Zachariah would have thrived in, but Cassius was not quite ready for. Politics were not the strong suit of the lord, a battlefield was where he belonged.

With the nod of his head, gates rattled and screamed their way upwards, granting Ramsey and his men entry. Cassius did not waist time waiting for him, heels dug into his horse's sides, a grunt leaving his lips, urging it to take off for the castle. Taking off with a gallop, Cassius lead the way, his brother not far behind him. Glancing back over his shoulder, the eldest brother spotted the thrill on Jonas' face. Soon, they were riding side by side.

"You've gone right pissed 'im off brother," Jonas laughed out before shaking his head of dark curls, "best hope he don't flay you next."

Cassius hoped her was joking. He was no stranger to the history of House Bolton. Their sigil, a flayed man, sprawled out and on display. They had been old tactics of torture for the house. Their signature. Rumor was, that the bastard indulged in similar traditions. The lord was going to give him the benefit of the doubt - and well, rather hoped that the whispered words of others were untrue. The last thing he needed was to meet his fate following his wedding night.

Waiting on the steps of their castle was the remainder of his family. Adilayde stood with the a twin on each side, and Ingrid had managed to find a place of her own along side Sofya. Dismounting his horse, Cassius moved directly to his lady, "you couldn't look more perfect standing here," he muttered in ear before looking down upon her. She had taken to Delilah's old gowns, abandoning the rags Xander had given her to wear. Now she looked like a proper lady. He gave her lips a quick kiss before turning around to find Rasmey at his feet. He couldn't help but notice that the beady eyes of the man light up at the sight of his family.

"My, my," the man hummed out, his feet scuffing against the dirt, "from what I recall your daughters had not taken on such Southern beauty, which can only mean one thing someone failed to send out a wedding invitation. How am I not surprised? This one does not quite know his place yet-"

"It was a private ceremony, you can understand that after recent events why someone would want to keep it as such," Cassius addressed, voice strong and firm, "this is my wife, Lady Ingrid. She hails from the Westerlands, blood of my uncle-" he stopped himself there. If he dug himself too deep into his lies with too much detail it would be too obvious that the story was untrue.

"I must offer my congratulations," Ramsey smiled, teeth baring from behind his lips. With slow steps, he sauntered up towards them, stopping when he was toe to toe with the new Lady of Fort Stryder. He was a short man when he was not upon his horse. It made Cassius smile too wide. How could such a little man carry such intimidation? That he did not understand. Cassius watched as Ramsey too Ingrid's hand, bringing it too his mouth for a gentle kiss.

"Such sweet, soft skin," he muttered and looked up at the family, "if she would be so kind to escort me inside?"

The look Ingrid gave Cassius was one that asked for permission. He could see in her eyes how uncomfortable the man made her. She too must have heard the rumors. Cassius however, was not going to further displease the bastard. "Why, of course," he told the pair, before swallowing hard. Eyes met his wife's, silently promising her that all would be well with a wimple glance. The walk to the hall was agonizing. It was apparent that Ramsey did not know what silence was and carried conversation with Ingrid throughout the halls. That was until they came to the entry way, and Cassius took a step in front of the group to stop them in their place.

"Now, it will be you and I from here Lord Bolton," Cassius told him, nodding back towards his mother for them to leave. If this went poorly, he did not need them facing any harm. "The women need no mind in our politics, the children too young," his eyes then fell on Jonas who had come forward to take Ingrid back. He was next in line if anything were to happen to Cassius. There was no way he was going to have him in the room. It would be to risky.

He was sure Ramsey could sense the distrust, but he gave no care. His father had trusted him to protect their family, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

In the hall there was a fire burning. Wood popped and crackled under the extreme heat. It set the room aglow with it's orange hues. At the head of the room, looking over many long tables, Cassius found the seat of the lord. It was from there he looked over Lord Ramsey who stood before him. This action seemed to displease the man greatly.

"You actions beg me to further call into question your loyalty Cassius-"

"Lord Cassius, I give you the respect of giving you, a bastard, your title. I ask you give me mine."

He then watched as the Bastard Bolton came to an equal level with the Lord of Fort Stryder. Standing taller than him, only when Cassius sat upon his seat. "I will give my respect to those who are in deservance of such-"

"Are we going to have a problem Lord Ramsey?"

"We have a problem," the words of the other were venomous now, "I had come to ask for your fealty as your family had devoted your banners to House Stark, but they are no more. You are walking on thin ice Lord Cassius, you have much to learn or your reign over your house will be short lived."

"Our loyalty was with house Stark as they were Warden of the North. We road along side them as Joffery Baratheon had slain Eddard Stark. Yet, House Bolton Ward the North now if I am not mistaken. This would mean, my loyalties now fall with you," he had hoped his logic could over power the strength of his actions. They had seemed to satisfy the man, and he should have predicted the command that had escaped the lips of Ramsey Bolton:

"Now, kneel."


	7. Marcus II

**Reign of the Fallen**

 _A Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

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 _Marcus_

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The chill of the northern summer had been long left behind. The warmth of the southern, summer sun what one that Marcus Gwhendel had not felt in many moons. This was what Marcus knew and loved. Not the heavy furs upon layers of clothing to try and remain warm. He did not have the thick skin of a northerner. It may be where he called his home, but his longing for Gwheniver would never dissipate. Riding south now, on his mission to return his daughter home, reminded him of his sacrifices. One that made him ponder the thought of not returning home himself.

With the wars taking the land, Gwheniver remained aligned with the House of Lannister. The house in which the Queen the birthed. They were wealthy beyond belief and had much sway in every corner of Westeros. They were quite possibly, the best allies to be had in these times. Fort Stryder would be in good hands under the rule of Cassius. He was a strong man, intimidating at the very least if his wits faltered. Even then, he had the support of Adilayde whose mind was an sharp as any mans. With his mind falling on her, he frowned. He couldn't not remain in the south, as his love for her was too strong. His lady was the reason he had to return to the north. They had come too far for him to abandon her, to take another wife.

The horses' strides were slow, taking the eroded path that was known as the King's Road. It was the quickest route to Gwheniver as not many used it since the late King Robert had used it during his travels north, then south again. Those involved in the wars - as he had been in full force prior, avoided the road completely as to avoid being seen or ambushed by the enemy. That worry no longer phased Marcus. Out of his heavy furs and robes, he looked much like the common folk that was when Desmore did not ride close to him. A merchant did not commonly have armed escorts, never mind one in full northern riding armor. Marcus was grateful he did not have to take the journey alone, the loneliness would have driven him mad.

Reaching the top of a hill, much of the road ahead of them came into view. It was only days ago he was heading home along this road and he soon would be passing the twins once more. The idea made him sick. The ground was probably still red with bloodshed. His son's blood. Did his body still lay there? Left to rot and the crows to pick at? It was going to take all of his strength to keep riding and not kill Frey himself.

"My lord?" Desmore Rogan found his voice when the horses stills, "Marcus, is all well?"

"It will be," he assured his man before nudging his horse to move forward. He however chose to remove himself from the path. He needed to avoid the twins at all costs. This was not a travel for revenge just yet. On the way back with an army, and one coming from the north under his sons lead. That was when they would take The Twins. "Come now, I want to cross the river before night fall. It will be a quick travel through the Riverlands, and soon we will be home."

"Your brother, he is expecting us?" Desmore asked of his friend, following his lord off towards a line of trees. They wanted cover, to go unseen by any watching eye. Marcus could not risk not making it to Gwheniver. He had too much riding on his travels.

"If the raven made it to the castle, I have no way to tell," he had not waited for a letter to return. It would have been a waste of precious time. There was no doubt that if the letter had not reached his brother's hands, that he would have heard of the Red Wedding already. It was all he really needed to know to help Marcus. No one got away with killing their family, right? Or had the distance but strain between blood. That was something that had the old lord worrying. Would his brother Magnus give a damn? Marcus would stand beside him if something had happened to Gwheniver, but it was his childhood. His life. Fort Stryder meant nothing to Magnus. It was just another castle in the north.

Camp was set at night fall, the horses tethered to a tree and the men laying back against the stiff ground. He was thankful he had his furs for a pillow, but the nights would be as sleepless as they all had been since the massacre. When he did manage to find sleep however, they were forced memories of the night he had lost Zachariah. Watching him die before him again and again. Some nights, it had even managed to make him sick. Tonight, he did not have such worry. Instead, he swatted at the pesky bugs the had bred upon the river's top.

Each bite of the bug, left itching bumps over his skin. Bumps that grew irritated with each scratch of his fingers. It was then in that moment he was thankful to currently live in the north. He could fight off direwolves, and risk losing his fingers on the cold, but these bugs were demons sent straight from hell. Their attack on him was relentless, even the horses felt at war with the peskys, tails constantly swaying to keep the bugs clear of their asses. All Marcus had to keep him safe from the bugs were his furs, leading to a sweat drenched night in the summers heat.

Come morning he had nearly sweat through the cotton of his clothes. Deep blue marks down his back and under his arms. The same went for Desmore, sweat taking his clothes. They did not conversation to decide a bath in the near river would do them some good. Waste deep, cool water splashed up on their skin from cupped hands. It wasn't often they say running water. Most had been frozen over or jammed with ice back home. For the first time since the beginning of his travels, Marcus managed a smile. It was wide enough to feel guilty. How could something as simple as getting cleaned up during his ride bring him such joy? How could he feel happiness after he had lost his boy? Sighing, he looked down into his reflection, taking in the sight of the man who looked back at him.

It was a tried man. Face traced with fine lines, and eyes heavy with bags. Long grey hair, was left stringy with oils, framing the strong jawline peppers with a growing beard. It almost itched now, the tiny, unkempt hairs against his skin. It seemed so practical when the snow was heavy and the wind harsh, but in the heat sweat collected there, making it heavy and dirty. Cupped hands brought the chill water to his features, waking them up from the fatigue that had come with a sleepless night.

"All we are missing is a bunch of naked whores to keep us company," Desmore commented with a laugh towards his friend. He was a man that could never understand the woman a lord and his lady could share. A man who could not be tamed.

Marcus had went to rebut, when the screech of cart tires took the air. They were in desperate need of oil, and the lord was grateful for that. it was a warning that one was coming. Moving to the river's edge, he dropped as not to be seen. From where he lay, he could just cat the curve at the end of the road. On it, travel not one cart, but many. At first he could not tell what the loads they carried where, but after a moment, a cart piled high rolled past. This was not a merchant's cargo, but the bodies of men slain piled high. Bodies that were being carried away from the river, to the north. To return to their families.

His heart broke. One of those carts would be travelling home to Fort Stryder, to return his son. He would not be there to hold his wife as she sobbed, or pat his son on the back for support. There would be no funeral for him to attend. he would not get to see Zachariah one last time.

Thoughts were broken when his tunic his his straight in the face, half of the fabric becoming heavy with the river's water. A displeased expression took his features, Amber eyes looking up at the naked man who stood before him. "It is best we keep moving my lord." The man wasn't wrong. If they left now, and traveled quickly, they could reach Gwheniver at sunset. Exhausting his horse was worth much more than spending another night out in the bushes. It would have plenty of rest in the stables.

Sun hot on their backs, they road until they saw tall sandstone towers. The sunset was beautiful behind the skyline, captivating the land in all it's glory. Exhaustion had taken all, legs threatening to fold under themselves as they took their final steps. Men no longer road their horses, they weight becoming too much after a hard and steady ride. Thighs ached in the legs of their rides, irritated from the saddles earning a waddle rather than a walk in their strides. The final obstacle in their path, a heavy iron gate. One that fingers grasped onto for support.

Noticing the arrival of strangers, a young man, dressed in the finest of the south, moved to stand across from them. Marcus could only assume this was the nephew he had heard so much about.

"What business brings you to Gwheniver?" The man spoke, bright eyes moving over the man and their horses.

"Tell Lord Magnus his brother is here to see him."


	8. Cassius III

**Reign of the Fallen**

 _A Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

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 _Cassius_

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Kneeling before House Bolton had released the tension in the air. It had brought satisfaction to the bastard, putting the lord of Fort Stryder at ease. He no longer felt as if his life, or the lives of his family were in danger. They had sworn fealty to the new Warden of the North. Was it the right choice? In Cassius' mind, it was the only option. There was too great a risk in defying him. The last thing he needed was his family and home being burned to the ground. They had lost too much already, as they stood divided across the lands. He would rather be known as a traitor in the future, than be a dead man in the current. Ruling over Fort Stryder, and keeping his family safe in these dangerous times meant Cassius needed to be thinking ahead, and his strategy could have no flaws. The cracks in his foundation however, were already evident. Cassius had many weakness. All of them, were members of his family.

The very thing that made him strong, was also the delicate framework that could make him falter. With the loss of Zachariah, Cassius was hit by a heavy blow. Left heart broken, and although he was surrounded by those who cared for him, Cassius felt very much alone. Losing someone so close to you, a twin, it was if a part of you soul was gone. Leaving a great emptiness in his being that he was trying desperately to fill.

In hindsight, the compulsion of taking a bride was the first attempt in making himself whole again. The new lord could hold her close, finding the physical connection he craved. Could this attraction they shared surpass such it's physical nature? Was this a woman he could love and trust in these times? Thoughts like these were ones Cassius attempted to push into the back of his mind. They weren't exactly his favorite thing to think about while he was cock deep in his more that blushing bride.

Strong arms extended forward, they found leverage at the headboard of the bed. Calloused hands gripped at the wood, its stability drawing deeper into the whore he had made his wife with much greater force. The pleasure it gave her was evident in the air, Lady Ingrid was not a quiet lover. The lord attributed this to her training. Walking past the old brothel, all one could hear was the passionate moans of the whores inside. It was a wonder if those moans were genuine, if the pleasured sounds of his lover were genuine. Mind taking over again, Cassius grew frustrated. Thoughts begged answers, many of which called himself and his lordship into question.

With the abrupt creak of his chamber doors, thoughts were silenced. Glanced back over his shoulder, balls deep in an awkward situation, Cassius shouldn't have been so surprised to find Jonus. He was a man that did not know what knocking or privacy was. "As you can see brother, I am quite busy at the moment-" the smile that took his face was quite coy, spreading from ear to ear. Cassius had no shame as he remained sheathed inside Ingrid's moist warmth.

"My apologies but an issue has come to my attention that I had thought you would want to be brought forth to you. If you would rather I can take the issue on myself and leave you to your...business," Jonus made his purpose known before shying away behind one of the doors.

"What begs my attention?" Cassius ignored all need to continue to love his wife and fell into his role of lord with ease. His duty came first.

"A man has rolled up to our gates. Claims to have the bodies of those who lost their lives at the twins. He asks for payment Cassius, but he has Zachariah-"

Removing himself from the bed he took awkward strides to retrieve his trousers. "Rush to the gates, do whatever it takes to prevent the man from his departure. I will not risk the body of my brother being dumped into the river. Zachariah deserved so much more than that."

With his command, Jonus as made haste, leaving the lord and his lady in there chambers alone. Glancing back over his shoulder, it didn't take Cassius much to notice that Ingrid was less than satisfied. "I can't even tell you how many times we have been interrupted, I swear we truly have no time alone Cassius. Someone is always there with something to tare you away from me."

"You maybe be my Lady, Ingrid. I was a lord before I was a husband. My duty cannot be ignored. Not while the risk of threat is so great."

Dressed now, Cassius moved for the door, but a grasp took hold of his bicep, squeezing tight to prevent him from going further. "Please don't leave me-"

"This matter is one regarding my brother, it is not one I am going to hand off to another. It remains too great a deal to me. I will be back soon," the promise left his lips before they could find the warmth of her forehead. A frown found him, as she pulled away. How could she not understand? This was his family he spoke of, did she not see any value in his loyalties? A knot formed in the pit of his stomach, his mind looming over his family. Did Ingrid put them at risk? The thought nearly brought the lord to illness, but he let the rotting corpses on the delivery cart finish the job.

Graying bodies lay limp, piled upon one another like trash. Arms and legs were bent every which way. There was even one arm that hung off the cart by the body's thread, blackened nails scraping the dirt with each wind induced sway. Atop the throne of corpses sat late Lord Zachariah Gwhendel. His body remained in his blood stained armor, but had been picked clean of any silver and gold that could be sold. Lifelessly, his head lulled back, mouth agape to let out silence screams. Around his head, buzzed a crown of flies, laying their eggs in the portion of his skull that had been crushed in during the battle.

Looking down at his feet, Cassius felt great sorrow. This was not a state he wished to ever see his brother in. Composure was hard to find as he was caught between many emotions. Anger. Sadness. Disgust. Even happiness. It was one he did not expect to feel as his icy eyes looked into those of his brother that were once full of life, but had now found they grey fog that was death. His brother was home. That was all he could ever have asked for. "Pay this man the money he asks for," he made clear and directed townsmen to retrieve the body of his brother from the cart. "Zachariah, take him to the crypt where he will lay with those who have passed before him. Ready him for his eternal rest. We will pay our respects at night fall. What we do with the rest I care not-" he made clear, earning disappointed mutters for the lesser folk who had gathered around the fortress' gates. This made his body tense, he could not have these people question his ruling, "have those with family lost claim them and follow the custom of their choosing. Burn the rest."

Taking one last look of heartache towards the body of his brother as he was carried away, Cassius then turned on the heels of his boots and moved to make his way back to the castle. He would not let anyone see him cry. Not his people, his brothers and sister, mother nor his wife. He needed to remain strong for them. The lord needed a place to seclude himself from the rest of the world, and he knew just the place.

It was the tallest tower in Fort Stryder, this structure weak as Cassius swore he felt the stone shift when the winter wind blew strong. From above, he could see almost all of his land and his people. They looked much like insects from this height and it put him at ease. From here he felt as a lord should, powerful. Down there, among them he felt helpless. This was something he was not ready for. The decisions, and choices, they left his mind screaming. Desperately he wanted to seek help, but no. That would be a sign of weakness. He could not be a weak lord. He would not disappoint his father.

Hands balled into fists at his sides, Cassius did his best to find control over the chaos in his mind. Instead, he only found himself growing more frustrated. Soon, his breathing was heavy, and his brows set into a scowl. Anger pulsed through him, from heart to every limb. Ear splitting was the scream that left his lips, echoing off the fortress walls. Thankfully, he was far enough away from the nearest handmaiden, commoner or family member to be heard. Fists met the stone walls, the force broke skin and shatter knuckles, leaving blood streaming down the walls until he could no longer stand the pain he inflicted upon himself. Stepping back, he was left trembling from the pain, his stomach twisted in knots as he was faced with the threat of vomiting. It was one he battled with little difficulty.

Leaving a trail of blood behind him, the young Lord began his journey towards his chambers. He wished to have no one see him this way. Damaged. Weak.

Blood slid down the skin of his finger tips. Staining the gray stone beneath him with the splatter of drops. Distant eyes watched them fall, just missing his boot with every step he took. Only did the damaged lord look up when he heard a tiny gasp. Head raising to rest strongly on his shoulders he found that the gasp had left feminine lips. Those of his little sister.

"Sofya-"

"What happened to your hands?" her small voice took the air as she rushed to him. Her small hands found his, they were cold, and her tough brought a groan from his mouth. Lips moved to answer, but the adolescent gave him no time to respond. A fist grasped him by the tunic and was leading him off through the corridors of their home. Cassius did not fight her grasp. On did not challenge the youngest born daughter and get away with it. Not even the lord.

"Mother!" the voice of Sofya chimed when they had reached their final destination. The throne room. Inside there was a quarrel at play between Adilayde and Jonus. The yelling only brought a pounding to Cassius's skull. It was almost as if Sofya sensed this and shouted again. "Shut it! Shut it! Shut it! Mother! Cassius did something stupid!"

Those were the words that brought silence to the air. Mother and son held their tongues only turn their attention to the young lady. "I thought I told you not to talk about that any further," came the voice of their mother. That? The thick brows of the lord came together. Just what was she speaking of? What was his family keeping from him? What had be done to drive them into such secrecy?

Soon his mother stood before him, taking his bloodied hands in her own. Looking down at her, he could see he pain in her eyes. Not caused by just his hands, but the events of days passed. If he could, he would do anything to go back an trade places with his brother Zachariah. His family would be better off then. Wouldn't they?

"Your sister is right, you did do something stupid," his mother told him, only for his face to wrinkle and disapproval. "We'll get you patched up and sent off for a bath, you need rest Cassius. Between Ingrid, House Bolton and your brother you have gotten little time to rest," she frowned as a hand reached up to stroke the strength of his jawline, "you are going to drive yourself mad if you keep this going."

"I need to," a sigh left his lips as he pulled away from his mothers touch, "for father. Until he returns to Fort Stryder. He put trust in me to watch our lands for him, to ready for the battles to come. I will not just sit back and watch everything fall around us. Not after what happened to Zachariah. I will get justice!"

Silence took the room, Cassius' body captivated by the heavy breaths of anger. It was also now that the pain of his hands took him, earning a further groan. Letting his mother take him, he was seated in his throne. Adilayde sat on the ground before him, taking in the sight of the damage. It wasn't long until the maester had been fetched to tend to his injury. Mother kept close, and Sofya was sent off to her chamber, yet Jonas remained lingering along the walls. Cassius couldn't help but to notice the glances her kept sending their way, and the way his brother kept looking down at his feet and mumbled to himself in thought.

"There be something on your mind brother, it is in your best interest to share it or it will be you that is driven mad," Cassius advised him and tried to ignore the uncomfortable pressure that the bandages left on his hands. His spoken words caused his little brother to jump in the slightest. This only made the lord more curious.

"Mother has asked me not to speak of it," Jonus started as he approached his brother with confidence in his steps, "but if you ask of me to speak I shall not remain silent. We have received a letter from House Forrester. Lord Ethan, he- he has been killed by Ramsey Bolton and they are under the threat of Lord Whitehill. They write to us in their time of need as friends and as allies. This is not something that can go ignored brother. Not when the North has been left to the reign of a monster. Not when it is justice you seek."

"House Forrester is greatly weakened. Their only heir is a young boy, aligning ourselves with a dying house would only weaken us further," Cassius claimed before lowering his head to quietly thank the maester for his service.

"House Forrester has access to iron wood, some of the strongest for battle. This will not be an alliance that goes one way. I will take it upon myself to ride to Ironwrath myself and speak with Lady Forrester. I am not here to ask for you permission, but to tell you that I will stand with House Forrester and fight for them with or without your support."

If Cassius could clench his hands in his fists, that was the moment in which he would have chosen to hit his brother. Who did he think he was, speaking to him in such a manner, and acting in the disinterest of his own house. Cassius could not just sit there and let it happen, could he? If his brother was to ride to Ironwrath, House Gwhendel wanted something in return. "You ride to Ironwrath, but we will not aid without payment. I am not wasting resources on a lost cause unless there is something to take from it." A smile then took his features. He knew exactly what he could take from them. Another seat in the North.


	9. Rodrik I

**Reign of the Fallen**

A _Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

* * *

 _ **Rodrik**_

* * *

Pain. It could be felt through the body of the new Lord of Ironrath. His status as lord however, was yet to be known. In his current state of mind, all Rodrik Forrester knew was the agony faced by his body. Laying in bed, eyes captured in the shade of his closed eyes could recall his journey home, but barely. Rodrik had been lucky to have survived both the battle and the work Maester Ortengryn had performed on him. He had the milk of the poppy to thank for that he was sure. If it hadn't been for his brief decision to drink, it was likely the pain would have been unbearable. The levels of pain he could have felt were not easily imagined. Was it possible to feel pain greater than he did in this moment?

A groan was to leave his lips, but was halted when his mind was pulled from something other than his injuries. Soft, quiet music? No, humming. A delicate tune. One only his sister Talia could have carried. The young Lady was the only one hold such talent in their family, he often wondered where she had gotten it from, but admired it nonetheless. Willing himself to open his eyes now, Rodrik let the blinding light of the morning welcome his green hues that only squinted as result. The brightness of day was something the Lord would need to adjust to, and he hoped it could be done quickly. Movement was a struggle, the simple movement of his head to the side in hopes of seeing his little sister drawing his attention to the stiffening of his muscle. That however was what happened when you were left to die in a cart full of bodies and lay unconscious in bed for only the old Gods and the new, knew how long. In his field of vision was a pitcher, and beyond it a window. On the floor however he found the silhouette of Talia, she was there.

Palms coming down onto the bed, her hoisted himself up into a sitting position. This however was not without struggle. Pain shot through his body like an arrow from its bow. It was a pain so great that he didn't expect it. That confirmed it, the pain could get worse. With the parting of his lips, a groan escaped filling the room, but only for a moment.

It was just long enough to draw the attention of the young lady whose mind had been caught in the horrendous events that had surrounded her family in the past days. With Rodrik's return, she had felt the slightest bit of relief - happiness even, but for that she felt guilty. How could she be happy? With her father murdered at the twins, Gared Tuttle being sent to the wall, and watching as her brother was murder by Ramsey Snow, the family had been surrounded by nothing but darkness. Rodrik's survival, it was a symbol of hope.

"Rodrik! Thank Gods! Brother, I thought I lost you!" the words of his sister were like sweet music to his ears. It was a welcome change from squeaking cart wheels and the buzzing of flies in his ears. Before he could get word out, her feet clambered against the floor, and her arms were wrapped around him in an embrace too tight for him to handle with his body left sore and bruised. Ultimately, he was forced to groan out again. These groans elicited a worried expression from his little sister, followed by a series of apologies: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you."

Shaking his head slowly, Rodrik assured his little sister that her embrace was not too much for him with the slightest bit of humor; "You are stronger than when I left," a smile formed on his lips as he pulled back to take in her features. She was not the child he had left behind. Talia was taller now, slowly becoming a young lady. She had missed many years of her life and that frightened him, it however also made him thankful that he was given the opportunity to see the rest of it in the years to come.

"Two years is a long time," the young lady countered as her hand raised to push the dark strands of Rodrik's hair away from his features. It was with it pushed out of the way that Talia could see the extent of his injuries. It wasn't just the damage done to his leg, but to his face as well. it was left black with bruises, and the cuts and scratches were hard with the scabs of healing. "How bad is it?" she sounded again, maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked, "Maeter Orengryn says your leg my never fully heal. And your face-"

"I look half as bad as I feel," he voiced, his hand falling to take her hand. She knew he would be alright, right?

"Well, at least you look better than you did," he hoped so he thought in response to his little sister's words. When he first returned home he had practically be a corpse. "Rodrik, there is something you should know," the way she paused to let a a sigh take her body, let Rodrik know that the news to some was not going to be good in nature. Pushing himself up a little further into a sitting position he braced himself for what was to come. "Ethan is dead."

The room when silent for a moment, Rodrik failing to find the right thing to say. Their family had come to know so much death. First their father, then Ethan - and Rodrik himself had almost become apart of that trend. "Ethan," he managed after a moment, the single word broken and weak.

"Roose Bolton's bastard came here and threatened to take me away!" Her words were strong, filled with such venomous anger that Rodrik could feel it course through his own heart. "Ethan offered to go in my place, and that monster put a blade through his throat, like it was nothing. Ethan, how could this happen to him?" Words that had started off strong, ended with a tired whelp. Rodrik felt pain in his chest at the loss of their brother, but could only imagine his sister's sorrows. Talia and Ethan were twins after all. They shared a bond like no other.

Taking her chin, Rodrik guided it up from looking down at her lap, and up at him. "We'll make Ramsey pay for what he did. I promise."

"Good," she nodded and let her head turn off towards the window that looked down on the grounds of Ironerath. There was something more his sister was keeping from. Rodrik's lips parted to beg more answers, but Talia answered without question: "It's been chaos here since he died. We have Whitehill soldiers stationed in out courtyard. Even the small-folk don't feel safe. You need to show everyone who this house belongs to."

Looking over himself, and pairing that with how great the pain he felt was, Rodrik knew that he was no wear near in good shape. But as the new lord of House Forrester, he could not let the pain stop him from his reign. Hands braces his body on the bed, slowly pushing himself up so his legs hung over the side of the bed. Rodrik was preparing to stand. "They need a lord."

"I know you still need time to heal, but-"

Rodrik saw the worry on her face and did his best to offer a smile without wincing. "I will be fine Talia-"

"The counsel is meeting in the great hall right now actually. Nobody expects you there but, if you think you are ready-" her information was what he needed to further convince himself that standing, and walking was something her needed to do even if every fiber of his being was screaming no. Standing up to his feet, a groan erupted up his throat, letting the pain he felt in his limbs escape his body but only to make room for more. Soon, the room was a blur around him, the heavy weight of his body collapsing to the floor.

The impact of his body meeting cool stone was quiet, the only witness to Rodrik's currently suffering, his little sister. Small hands could be felt on his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. "I can' let anyone see you like this, not when the house appears so weak already," her desperate words earned a groan from the physically broken Lord. He would not remain bedridden, not while his will remained strong.

"I was rolled in on a corpse cart, the damage is done," he claimed, arms reaching out from under him to find support on the floor. With what remained of his strength, he pushed himself up, finding his footing once again. He moved to attempt to take a step onto his sore leg, when Talia's hand stopped him with a gentle press to his chest.

"You are the lord of the house now, you must appear strong, solid, you can't do that on the floor. It's a long way to the great hall. We can't risk you falling where other's can see," she explained, her hand retracting so that it was left an open invitation for him, "Take my hand, let me help you."

"Thank you Talia," A smile took Rodriks features, as will her guidance and support Rodrik was able to take his first steps without falling. His steps were slow, the muscle in his thigh aching, but it was movement. In time, he was sure it would heal even is Maester Ortengryn was sure the damage was too great for a full recovery.

"Everyone will be so glad to see you up," Talia encouraged, the walls of the castle passing with their slow movements, "Though I think you will find that much has changed." The words of his little sister worried him. Change was to be expected with the death of his father at the Twins, and later the death of Ethan, but how much could change in just a matter of days? It was in the court yard that Rodrik was faced with reality. Whitehill soldiers that far outnumbered their own lingered, eating their food and drinking their ale. The sight made the new lord's blood boil. How could this have happened?

"How?" was all he could managed out as he continued his journey to the great hall.

Talia however, did not have an answer for him. Instead, all she could do was distract him from the insults and complaints thrown in his direction: "Last we heard, Asher was in Slaver's Bay, so Malcom caught a ship headed for-"

Asher. Now that was a name that Rodrik's ears had not heard in many moons. The Forrester's second born. Tall and broad, and took after their mother's side. The thought of him brought a frown to Rodrik's features, it was during times like these that they needed a man like Asher. If he hadn't been exiled for falling in love with the wrong woman, maybe, just maybe things would have been different.

"We have business in the great hall," the voice of Talia brought Rodrik brought him from the very thoughts she had sent him into.

"Go around," were the mumbled words of the Whitehill soldier that blocked their path. He sat in his armors on the bottom steps, blade drawn for polishing, or rather intimidation.

Taking a heavy breath, Rodrik knew that this was his time to step up and prove himself. He could not let Talia fight this small yet important battle for him. The eyes of the Whitehill men that cluttered his court yard were on him. What he did in this moment would leave an impression of his lordship on these men. Was he weak? Or was he the lord this house needed. After a moment, he found his words. "Move aside soldier. I am the lord of this house, and you will move," Rodrik almost surprised himself with the respect he had displayed and the strength of his tone. It was no more than an hour before he had awakened with a voice that barely wanted to speak, but in moments of desperation he had found it.

Although it seemed as if the soldier had wanted to put up a fight, he stood, looking Rodrik long and hard in the eyes. The eyes of the solder were squinted and bloodshot, and Rodrik could feel the opposing man's breath on his face. It was sweet with ale, he was drunk, as were the Whitehill soldiers that surrounded them. This caused the lord to tense, were they going to have trouble here? Prepared to pull away Talia and fight off the solider, Rodrik was put to ease when the Whitehill solder stepped aside to let them pass. Giving the hand of his little sister a gentle squeeze, he looked down at her with the slightest of smiles, "Let's go."

Take the steps to the great hall was w new struggle for the lord. With each step his leg took, it felt as if its fibers were tearing. To not fall or groan was near impossible for Rodrik, but soon he was in the great hall, approaching the table his father once sat at the head of. The throne in which he would now sit. The great however, was no more calm than it was outside. An argument greeted them, the shouting of Sir Royland and Sentinel Duncan Tuttle bounced off the walls, causing Rodrik's head to throb. The room only did silence when Maester Ortengryn has spoken his name.

Both Sir Roland and Duncun Tuttle looked away from one another, parting the way for Lady Elissa to move. Quick steps carried her and soon Rodrik found her arms around him. To feel his mother's embrace brought great peace to the body of the lord. While he was still suffering a great deal of pain, he could feel her motherly love enveloping him. A hand reached up taking soft blonde strands in his hold. "Rodrik," he heard his mother's words against his neck, "my boy," it was then she pulled back, a gentle hand caressing his cheeking before she looked back at the grand table of the great hall, "come, join us."

"Lady Talia, you should have told us the Lord needed help," came the voice of Sir Royland as Talia continued to aid her brother to his rightful place on the throne of Ironwrath. The sympathetic tone of Royland caught Rodrik's ears by surprise. It was not often you would hear such concern in the man's voice. Rodrik did his best to remain tall and strong before the men who served his family, but still accepted the help from Talia as he found his seat at the head of the table. A seat that once belonged to his father.

"It's good to see you awake Lord Rodrik," Duncan Tuttle sounded, drawing Rodrik's vision down the table to wear he sat. On the man's arm rested the bracer of the sentinal. Looking between the two men at the table, Sir Royland and Duncan Tuttle, Rodrik understood his late brother's choice in sentinal. While Ethan was a young Lord, her valued logic and reason rather than violence. Rodrik could remember days where the third-born son would be reading with Talia rather than want to learn to fight. Ethan's beliefs heavily fueled his choices, but as Rodrik sat at the head of the table with a war with the Whitehills evident in the future, he couldn't help but wonder if Sir Royland would have been the better choice.

"We didn't expect you so soon. The Maester said it would be weeks before you were walking. If you walked again at all," Royland's voice found the air again, his tone still laced with the shock that their lord was alive and well.

"You call this walking?" Rodrik cut in not long after, his voice strained with the disappointment in his own abilities. The steps he could manage were a start, but how much further would he be able to come? How long would it take before he could walk without Talia supporting him at his side? "I can barely stand." His dark eyes fell to the table top, a heavy breath taking his frame. This meeting was not to be about him, it was to be about their house.

"Talia has told me the state of our house," he started and looked between those in their company. They all wore the same worried expressions that made his stomach twist in knots. "We have lost two of our Lords in what feels like as many days. Whitehill soldiers plague our home while Ryon remains a hostage at High Point. Our situations is grim, and it is likely to get worse before it gets any better - and it will fail to do so if we continue to sit her and fight among ourselves when we should be fighting them!" With his words a strong fist came down on the table, his frustration obvious now.

"We'd need an army to win that fight and we don't have one. Not anymore." Royland pointed out to Rodrik, causing tension to build up in the man's shoulders. He hadn't learned to what extent their army had suffered during the battle at The Twins, it hasn't occurred to him that he was one of the few survivors of their house.

"Do whatever it takes," Rodrik ordered, "Ryon will not remain hostage-"

"With the passing of Ethan," it was the voice of Elissa Forrester taking the hall now. Her voice was strong and determined to Rodrik's ears, her strength in periods of weakness had always astonished him. "I sent a raven to Fort Stryder requesting their aid in our fight against the Whitehills. A representative rides to Ironwrath as we speak - and perhaps," the woman paused, her next words seemed hesitant to the Lord's ears. "Perhaps it's time to talk about the Glenmores. You'd be wed to Elaena Glenmore already if not for the war and her father it no coward. Now that you've returned, the marriage can proceed as planned."

Hearing the name of his betrothed made Rodrik hold his breath. It had been a long time since he had seen the beautiful woman he was to marry. Those arrangements had been made long before the war, before had had gone to fight for Robb Stark. He held many frond memories of her in his mind, and in his heart, he held nothing but love and admiration in his heart. A heart that now hurt in fear that after all that had happened, she - or rather her father - would wish that the betrothal would not continue to the joining of their houses.

"Much has changed, the Glenmores may no longer desire the union," it was the voice of Tuttle speaking the words Rodrik could not manage to speak on his own.

"Lady Elaena will decide for herself. Your betrothed is on her way here as we speak," the words of his mother further paralyzed the Lord in surprise. Eleana was riding to Ironwrath? His stomach was in knots now as he looked between the med who sat around him, then to his sister. They all looks as surprised and concerned as she felt. It woldn't be long until Lady Eleana's arrival, which meant that she would see Rodrik in his current state. Bandaged. Broken.

"Why is she coming here?" Rodrik found his words, and they displayed the fear he felt throughout his entire body. It over took the pain that originated from his war wounds. Losing Eleana would be an even greater pain than that.

"She means to pay her respects to your father, but could also be a change to solidify our arrangement. If she still wishes to marry. we would gain the allies we so desperately need," Elissa explained, her voice full of confidence in the matter.

"Their armies would become both bound to Rodrik," Duncan followed, his voice gaining Lady Elissa's confidence, "And if we rally support with House Gwhendal-"

"We could burn High Point to the fucking ground," Roland celebrated, his smirk growing wide.

It was a shock to Rodrik just how quickly moral could change. One moment they were all wondering just how their house was going to manage to survive this battle with the Whitehills while he was struggling to recover from the injuries sustained at the Twins. With the words of potential allies brought hope to all, but it put a lot of weight on the shoulders of the Lord. Rodrik knew that he would have to solidify allegiances with both House Gwhendal and House Glenmore. The first could easily be bargained in his mind. He could offer House Gwhendal Ironwood in exchange of their army, but with Eleana, things would be much more difficult. If her love did not remain, or her father didn't see him as a first husband anymore, she could be lost.

Rodrik however, was a determined man. He had survived when he shouldn't have. He was walking when he should be crippled. The Lord of Ironwrath had defied all the odds that were stacked against him, and he would continue to do so, no matter what it took. "With them we could burn High Point to the ground," he reiterated, "we can, and we will."


	10. Jaime II

**Reign of the Fallen**

A _Game of Thrones_ Fanfiction

By Millie55

* * *

 _ **Jaime**_

* * *

Valyrian steel, there was no finer ore from which a sword could be crafted. There was no blacksmith left alive who could forage such weapons since the Doom of Valyria. This left the eyes that took in its elegant beauty fascinated. Jaime Lannister had always desired such a well-crafted weapon, but his dreams had died with the many wars of Westeros. Yet, here he was with a Valyrian steel blade to call his own. "Magnificent," he near whispered out in admiration. Bright eyes only did raise from the sword when his father let out a low hum in agreement. It reminded Jaimie that he was not the only one in the chamber. "Looks fresh-forged," Jaime then noted aloud out of respect.

"It is," Tywin informed his son, bringing shock to Jaime's features.

"No one's made a Valyrian steel sword since the Doom of Valyria-" Jaime spoke out, his voice a mix of matter-of-fact knowledge, and shock.

"There are three living smiths who know how to rework Valyrian steel. The finest of them was in Volantis. Came here to King's Landing at my invitation." With his father's words, Jaime came to understand how his sword came to be. While no known man could craft Valyrian steel, reworking it was a much less difficult task.

"Where did you get this much Valyrian steel?" Jaime questioned his father as he pushed the fine blade back into its sheath. This, however, was not an easy task to the man who had lost his dominant hand during his journey home. Angular features distorted with frustration, his wrist twisting and turning until the blade was tucked away completely. A sigh took his body, he could feel the eyes of his father on him and sense the air of disappointment that took the room.

"From someone who no longer had need of it," Tywin spoke up as he rounded his desk. Setting down into his seat, a smile almost took his emotionless disposition. His son's struggle, however, kept the smile at bay.

Standing across from his father, his mind couldn't help but race through all those they had conquered. It searched desperately for the previous over of such fine steel. They had to be from a great house, and in king's landing for it to fall into the position of his father. His body tensed as his mind focused on the individual - the traitor, Ned Stark. The vivid memories that came with such recollection forced Jaime into shutting his eyes and fighting them back into the darkness of his mind. When his eyes found the light again, he wore a coy smirk and spoke; "you've wanted one in the family for a long time-"

"-and now we have two."

"Two?" Jaime let his brow raise - could they be so fortunate?

"The original weapon was absurdly large. Plenty of steel for two swords,"Tywin explained and edged the sheathed blade in the direction of his eldest son, "and this one is yours, though, you'll have to train your left hand."

Jaime's heart dropped. While he was delighted to be honored with such fine weaponry, the skill he held with his left hand was less than impressive. He, however, would not let this be known to his father. "Any decent swordsman knows how to use both hands," he scoffed, but his father was not convinced.

"You'll never be as good"

"No. But as long as I'm better than everyone else, it doesn't matter," his cockiness overtook him, it was one thing he hadn't lost during his extended captivity and fight to return home to Cersei.

"You can't serve in the Kingsgaurd with one hand," Tywin reminded his son, his voice stern. Jaime's fear was now coming for him. The Kingsgaurd was his life. It was not something he would leave behind - his sister was not someone he could leave behind.

"Where is that written?" Jaime ordered, the frustration driving him to the other side of the room - putting distance between himself and his father. "I can and I will. The Kingsgaurd oath is for life."

"The war is over. The King is safe."

A laugh threatened to take Jaime; "The king is never safe. How many people in this city alone would love to see his head on a pike?"

"Other knights protected the King while you were a prisoner. They will continue to do so when you go home," Tywin explained, his words drawing Jaime's attention back to him.

"Home?" Jaime's voice broke. His father didn't expect him to return to Casterly Rock did he? Though, Tywin's words quickly confirmed what was expected of the knight;

"You'll return to Casterly rock and rule in my stead as my place is here. I don't expect to see the Rock again before I die."

Frustration bubbled inside Jaime. Casterly Rock was not his home, Kingslanding was his home. Here he had severed not one but three kings. Both Cersei and Tyrion resided in the Capitol, as well as his children. Leaving Kingslanding would mean leaving all that he loved behind. He was not willing to give that up without a fight. "No," he told his father firmly.

"I don't believe I asked you a question," the hand of the king was standing now in an attempt to assert dominance over his son.

"My answer is no. I don't want Casterly Rock, a wife, children-" Jaimie listed as in his mind he already had all of those things here in the Capitol. He did not need anyone telling him to love when it was obvious to him that his sister was the only possible choice.

Tensing, Tywin took slow strides, stopping when he came toe-to-toe with Jaime. "For 40 years I've tried to teach you," his voice managed to remain firm with anger, yet developed somewhat of a fatherly quality. "If you haven't learned by now, you never will. Go. If serving as a glorified bodyguard is the sum of your ambition, go-" His words were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door, followed by the loud screech of the individual's entry. Both men turned their heads, taking in the sight of the tiny brunette who entered the chamber.

"My apologies Lord Hand, Ser Jaime," spoke handmaiden Delilah Gwhendell upon entry. Jaime hadn't seen the young woman since their first encounter in the Queen's chambers. Unlike before, she was dressed in the finest of silks and was covered much more conservatively. Yet, his minds still managed to recall just what was concealed beneath her gown. Graceful strides carried the handmaiden to the two men in the midst of a power struggle before she curtsied. "I do not mean to interrupt," while her features were soft, her words displayed no regret for barging in, "but the Queen has requested that Ser Jaime meet with the Maester," she explained before lowering bright eyes to the chamber floor. For a Northerner, she knew her place - this impressed Jaime greatly.

"Need not apologize, Lady Delilah," Jaime assured, a small smile cutting through the tension that rested in the air. "I am sure you know better than anyone that my dear sister does not like to be kept waiting. Isn't that right father?" Jaime quipped but stopped to look longingly at the sword he had been gifted. "I supposed you want the sword back-"

"Keep it. A one-handed man with no family needs all the help he can get," his father's words stung deep into his core. He had always respected his father, but his honor and his love for Cersei and their children had to come first.

Left hand grasping at the Valyrian sword, he pulled it close to his frame. With quick steps, he was stalking towards the door, he only did stop to catch the attention of Delilah. The dispute between father and son left her still in place, her eyes wider than that of a doe faced by a hunter's bow. "My lady, the Queen will be expecting us both-" he called to her, breaking the northerner from her trance. After a quick apology and a courteous goodbye, the pair departed from the chamber and took to the halls.

The walk to the Queen's chambers from the Tower of the Hand was one of great length and the silence that fell between the Lord Commander and the handmaiden. Jaime could understand Delilah's apparent discomfort displayed by the great distance between them as well as her silence. The last time they had encountered one another was not traditional. He could only imagine that the young handmaiden had felt vulnerable, and embarrassed to be rather exposed to a man she did not expect. With Delilah being a woman of noble birth, he could only assume that no other man had seen her in such a way. The knight almost felt guilty for it:

"Delilah," he spoke out, the need formalities lost in the moment, "I want to offer my sincerest apologies for startling you in my sister's chambers upon my return to Kingslanding. My journey was long and enduring, I hand wanted nothing more but to see my family-"

"Need not apologize, Ser Jaime," the brunette assured him, though her words betrayed her. Instead of accepting his words, she was respecting the hierarchy. "The Queen receives many visitors, though it could have as easily been her waking me when in fact it was you. Was not my place to be sleeping in her chambers anyway-"

Jaime knew quite well that Cersei often sought the young woman's company during the night. When Robbert ruled, it kept him at bay and afterward, it gave Cersei another child to mother. "I need not to, but I am," Jaime told the young handmaiden as he came to a stop feet from his sister's door. He could not help but question who his sister's other visitors were, but another took over. Why hadn't he crossed paths with Delilah until today? Having been home for weeks, it was to be expected that her service would have been needed. It seemed that he had encountered all of those in kings landing with the expectation of her. Had his sister been keeping her from him? He asked himself this, but could only come to one logical explanation. Adilayde.

The thought near humored him, could Cersei possibly be jealous of the girl? And if she was, why send her to retrieve him for the Maester? Before he could voice his questions, the sway of silk clad hips was luring him further and through the threshold of his sister's chambers. "My Queen, your brother has come for his fitting," her voice was a sweet song as she addressed Cersei.

The happiness that seemed to take his sister was one near foreign to him. She had always been one to take after their father with his stern nature and desire for power, yet the Gwhendell girl brought forth her nurturing nature. Tired eyes watched as Cersei approached the young woman, her hands cupping the angular features of her face and stroking smooth tendril into place. "Such sweet little dove," his sister cooed her term of endearment. Jaime had heard it spoken to many before, first to their daughter as she was innocent and pure, then to Sansa Stark when she was set to be Queen, and now to Lady Delilah. "The other girls, are being fitted into their gowns for the wedding," she disclosed in a soft tone in which Jaime struggled to hear, "go join them, you will look just beautiful in Lannister gold - won't she Jaime?"

A lump formed in his throat, Cersei was testing him. Cerulean hued eyes failed to focus on the woman, instead, they bounced from his sister to the handmaiden as his lips were at a loss for words. "Yes," he sounded after a moment, "why of course. Nothing short of ravishing-"

"I am expecting nothing less, with the war ending and Joffery's reign dawning upon us - Delilah, it is only good time until a lord asks for your hand. There will be many well known Lord gracing us with their company during the celebrations. With such northern beauty-" Jaime could practically hear the sickeningly-sweet venom in her sister's voice now, "-it would bring great surprise if no man asks for your hand."

The color drained from the handmaiden's features, but she hid it well behind a smile. "It's all I have ever dreamed of," she claimed before pulling back, "now if you will excuse me, my Queen, I will want to look my best, come wedding day-" Soon, the tiny brunette vacated the room leaving Jaime, his dear sister and Maester Qyburn behind. With the gentle closing of the chamber door, tension in the room grew strong - the one thing more evident than the discomfort was the knot in Cersei's face.

Jaimes was surprised when full lips failed to part in scrutiny. Cersei was always one to voice her opinions, but she was also best at keeping secrets - Jaime could only assume that her silence was influenced by the presence of the maester. Lowering his vision to conceal a smirk, Jaime approached Qyburn. Sitting across from him, he expected that the old man would be examining his hand to assure it had healed properly - instead what he was caused his smile to fade. To replace the limb lost - in true Lannister fashion - a golden hand.

"A work of art. The craftsmanship is excellent," the maester enthused, leather digits working against Jaime's scarred stump. The knight's face twisted and scowled in discomfort - it near matched his twin sister's now.

"You like it so much," Jaime scoffed, "you're welcome to chop off your own hand and take it."

It was then the queen regent made her agitation known; "Such an ingrate. I spent days with the goldsmith getting the details just right." The golden lioness was on the prowl, pacing back and forth in front of the desk that divided Jaime from her. Fair brows furrowed together as Jaime took a moment to glance up at his sister. Days? Now that seemed like an exaggeration, even for someone as analytical as Cersei. He, however, did not question her, he was already in hot water.

Pale eyes remained focused on her Lannister beauty, only to fall at the words of the maester: "There, how does that feel?" The hand was in place. It was a foreign feeling to have such weight pulling on his arm - Jaime had grown used to his hand's absence. Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but his sister stole the air from his words.

"Elegant, I think. Thank you for your help with the other matter," Cersei voice, her slender frame taking a step towards the door - a subtle signal that his work with Jaime was complete. Qyburn however, ignored her wordless guide and turned his attention Cersei. Jaime couldn't help but wonder why his sister sought out the assistance of Qyburn. Before Jaime could question the matter, Cersei persisted; "Symptoms are gone completely. We are in your debt, Maester Qyburn."

Vacating the room, Qyburn left the two lovers confined to the queen's quarters. With this new degree of privacy, Jaime found the opportunity to speak; "What symptoms?"

Jaime received an inconclusive answer from his sister; "Symptoms that are not your concern." What was she hiding from him? "You let him touch you?" Surprise took his words. There were very few men Cersei allowed contact, one of which used to be himself. In recent time, after his many moons away, their physical contact was minimal.

"You jealous?" Cersei quipped, elegant strides carrying her off to a long small pedestal. Silence fell between them as Jaime pondered - was he jealous? No, what he did know, however, was that he missed feeling her skin against his. With this in mind, Jamie joined her by her side. While Jamie failed to speak, Cersei took it upon herself to fill the air - reminding Jaime of the hell he forced her through with his absence. After weeks of returning to comforts of King's Landing, he knew very well of the events that had occurred. Cersei would not let him forget his disappearance, the so-called traumatic death of her husband, Myrcella's betrothal, the siege Jaime was in no way impressed with - save for the courageous acts of his brother - and finally Cersei's own betrothal to the Highgarden brat.

Rolling his eyes, Jaime brought forth his own recent conflict, "So... Father disowned me today." The surprise on Cersei's face was almost enough to make him smile - with the gentle part of her lips, he could tell she did not believe him.

"He can't disown you, you're all he's got," she claimed, casting aside herself as well as Tyrion. Strain took to her voice as she continued to speak; "You don't really plan on staying in the Kingsguard, do you?"

Jamie nodded, his body leaning into his sister; "Staying in the Kingsguard means I live right here in the Red Keep with you..." his words trailed off into a sultry hum. They got lost in the curvature of her neck, and soon his lips were there, tasting the sweet flesh he had longed for. The delicious flavors lingered on his tongue as his sister pulled away - yet another rejection.

"Not now," she groaned out.

"I want- Not now? When? I've been back for weeks. Something's changed," Jaime pleaded, watching the slim figure of his lover put greater distance between them. Cersei had stood, and was near on the other side of the room.

"Everything's changed. You come back after all this time with no apologies and one hand and expect everything to be the same?" Cersei pleaded, her hand seeking out a goblet of the finest wine.

"What do you want me to apologize for?" Jaime begged an answer as he was finding himself often caught in a state of confusion.

Her answer was simple; "For leaving me,"

Jaime let out a low, sarcastic laugh. "You think I wanted to be taken prisoner? Every day I was a prisoner, I plotted my escape. Every day. I murdered people so I could be here with yo-"

"You took too long," she cut him off, "now go!"

Her shrill order had Jaime retreating in defeat. It was clear to him now what his sister wanted, and what she wanted was not him. Although rash, the commander of the Kingsgaurd reached a conclusion in his mind. It was not one he particularly liked, but he knew it would anger Cersei greatly. Abandoning her in her chambers, long strides carried him through the corridors of the Red Keep. Many spoke out his name, and young handmaidens who serve his sister and the other highborn ladies who reside there swooned - this all went unheard and unseen by the knight. He had tunnel vision. Only did it clear when he was busting through the door of The Hand's chambers.

Beyond the door, Tywin became alert. Jaime's presence hardened his features. With the man's strong stance and focus, it appeared to many that he was looking for a fight. He, however, was seeking victory through another course. His father planted the seed of success. "I will leave the Kingsgaurd," Jaime declared and watched as Tywin's features were overtaken with pride, "there will be conditions I ask to be met but I need only one answered now in this moment."

"Name it," Tywin smirked - Jaime knew that with his father's satisfied tone, he would do anything to have him as Lord of Casterly Rock.

"The lady I ask serve at my side," Jaime swallowed hard, was he really about to leap into such commitments? Yes, there was no turning back now. "I ask for the hand of the Ghwendel girl, Lady Delilah."


End file.
